


Happy To Be Found

by ashavahishta



Series: 2012 'Verse [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Biting, Bruises, Canon Compliant, Comeplay, Domestic, Established Relationship, Felching, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Mild Painplay, Multimedia, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Subspace, Tattoos, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 69,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavahishta/pseuds/ashavahishta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The weeks spanning October 2012 - January 2013 are a rollercoaster for Harry and Louis. There's shows to play, an album to promote, publicity stunts to be acted out...and several new tattoos to be inked. Throughout it all, the boys focus on the most important thing in their lives - their relationship. (Detailed summaries provided for individual chapters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary For Chapter: Harry and Louis both get new tattoos. Louis plays his charity football match.  
> Warnings For Chapter: painkink, d/s, subspace, barebacking, comeplay, bruising/biting/marking, tattoos, overstimulation  
> 

Harry's had the 'Things I Can/Things I Can't' design in his head for weeks before they arrive in Dublin.

He doesn't have a set process for when he gets tattoos. Some, like this one, he'll ponder for weeks or even months before he decides it's time for them to be done. Some are, admittedly, stupid - bets or whims, like his Packers 'G' or the little Aquarius sign he'd let Zayn scribble on him when they were bored. Others...others are a bit different. There's a few tattoos that were neither planned or thoughtless. They were impulsive, yes, but at the time they felt necessary, like if he didn't somehow express what he was feeling he might burst into a thousand pieces. Harry gets like that sometimes - overwhelmed by his own thoughts and emotions, until he's ready to scream or sing, or paint a giant mural or something, just to get it all out. The tattoos help, one small way to show what he's really thinking when he just can't put it into words. The other boys may raise an eyebrow when he gets inked up again, and Louis may tease gently about how 'quirky' he is, but Harry doesn't mind. His body has become a canvas of everything he feels but can't say. He likes that it's one thing he's able to control for himself.

The words he wants inked into his forearms are like that. There are some things he can do, can feel, can say.

There are some things he can't.

(There are some looks he can't look, some touches he can't touch, some admissions he can't admit.

Not to the public, anyway. Not if he's being what they want him to be.)

 

The tattoo parlour he picks in Dublin is not one that he's been to before, but he's heard good things about it. Louis and Liam announce brightly that they're tagging along, clambering into the van before Harry can blink.

"Liam's getting a sleeve," Louis informs Harry seriously. He's tucked in the seat between them, dwarfed by their broad shoulders on either side.

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes. He's a rebel now, didn't you know? Single lad, party boy. Time to break out the tattoos and piercings. He's already got the shaved head!" Louis rubs affectionately at Liam's short buzzed hair, and Liam's eyes scrunch up as he laughs and leans into the touch.

"Hardcore," Harry comments, and they amuse themselves with thinking up more ideas for Liam's apparent style change. By the time they arrive at the parlour, they've mentally dressed Liam in rose-and-skull tattoos, several piercings, and a lot of leather.

Louis and Liam have been their very own little gang of two ever since Liam and Danielle broke up. Their sudden split had seemed to impact the whole group. Harry had felt as they all tried to absorb some of the shock for Liam, as they tried to fold around him in some kind of protective bubble. None moreso than Louis, who's had Liam tucked under his metaphorical wing for weeks now. He's so maternal, Louis - feels things deeply, just cares so much for those around him. It's one of the things Harry loves so much about him, so it hasn't bothered him that Louis' been attached to Liam's side lately. Liam needs it, and they can all agree that things just aren't right when Liam Payne isn't cheerful.

"I'm not really getting a sleeve," Liam says bashfully as they're about to get out of the car. "But Louis and I were talking about maybe getting those little X signs like you and Zayn have?"

He looks at Harry with big brown eyes and Harry glances between the two of them. "You want to get tattoos to match mine and Zayn's?"

Louis nods enthusiastically. "We'll make Niall get one too! It'll be a band thing. We should've gotten them ages ago."

"You want a tattoo," Harry repeats unnecessarily. "You, Louis Tomlinson. You don't even like tattoos."

That's not quite true. Louis loves Harry's tattoos; they're both fully aware of that. He's never expressed the desire to get any for himself.

"Well I've changed my mind, haven't I?" Louis says, smiling at him. "You're so crazy for them, maybe I just want to know what all the fuss is about."

"Right," Harry says slowly.

"Hey," Louis says, leaning into him slightly and placing his hand on Harry's thigh. "Why are you being weird about this?"

"I-" Harry shakes his head. "I'm not trying to be, I'm just surprised. You've never mentioned this to me before."

"We were literally just talking about it today, babe. Li and I just thought it'd be cool to get a teeny, little X each. No big deal." Louis pats his thigh. "And hey, maybe if I like 'em I'll get more another time."

"That'd be really hot," Harry blurts, because his brain immediately provides him with an image of Louis, dark lines of ink running up and down his arm, over his chest.

Louis grins brightly and leans in to press a kiss to Harry's mouth. "Then we're agreed. Come on, let's get ourselves inked up."

 

Liam goes first, because apparently Louis made him promise that he would. It barely takes any time at all for the artist to draw out the tiny lines on the skin of his ankle bones. Liam smiles his way through it, because he's Liam, but Harry can tell it hurts. Harry drags Liam into a hug when he's finished, rubbing his back. He's glad they have something pulling them together now. Harry likes getting tattoos for the people he loves. Zayn will be thrilled to add the other two boys to their little club too.

When it's Louis' turn, Harry can tell he's nervous as hell but trying not to show it. He really doesn't like needles, never has, and he's been eyeing the tattoo gun distrustfully ever since they walked in.

The artist, a tiny red-haired woman named Kayla, is gentle as she coaxes Louis into the chair and explains what she's about to do.

"It's not that bad," Liam keeps saying. "It'll be over before you know it."

Harry doesn't bother lying. "It'll hurt, but it won't take long." He settles himself into the chair beside Louis and reaches for his hand. Louis' fingers fold into his instantly and he looks up at Harry with a small smile.

"Like you can judge," Louis teases. "You like the pain."

"Still hurts," Harry says solemnly.

Louis swears very loudly when the needle first touches his skin, and continues to swear for the ten minutes it takes to draw the small crosses on each of his ankles. Harry and Liam sit on either side, trying to distract him with stupid jokes and stories. Louis laughs with them, but there's a tension between his eyes and he doesn't let go of Harry's hand.

"All done," Kayla says, setting down the gun and wiping excess ink from Louis' left ankle for the last time. "Now, it'll be sensitive for a couple of days -"

"Wait," Louis interrupts, sitting up slightly so he can look down at her. "Um - there’s something else.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and clicks around until he finds an image. Then he angles the phone to show Kayla. “Can you do this?”

Brow furrowed in confusion, Harry twists around until he can see the screen too. He gasps.

It’s a sketch of a key design. Small and intricate, it would match perfectly with the padlock on Harry’s wrist.

"Louis -" Harry says dumbly, his heart thudding quick and heavy in his chest.

Louis just looks at him, something like a question in his eyes. Harry stares back, asking silently if this is really what Louis wants. He has so many tattoos for Louis now, and had never thought that Louis could (or would) do the same for him.

Louis bites his lower lip, his chin dipping in a small nod. He untangles their hands enough to rub his thumb gently against the padlock on Harry's left wrist, warm and sure.

It's all Harry needs, and he nods. He covers Louis' smaller hand with his own, breaking into a shaky smile. Louis returns it.

 

When Harry finally looks away from Louis, he realises that Kayla and Liam are both staring at them. Liam's expression is soft and fond, almost proud. Kayla looks confused, hovering over Louis' ankle and glancing back and forth between them. Louis clears his throat. "It needs to be really small, and somewhere people won’t see. I was thinking on my hip.”

He lets go of Harry’s wrist to reach down and indicate the spot the means, fingertips touching low on his right hip. Kayla nods, still looking at the picture on the screen. “Well you’ll need to take your pants off so I can have a look, let’s move to a different room.”

She leads them further into the shop and into a smaller room, shutting the door behind them. Louis strips out of his jeans and climbs into the waiting chair, tugging his underwear down slightly on one side.

Harry’s mouth goes a little dry as Louis reveals the soft golden skin of his hip. It’s one of his favourite spots on Louis’ body to touch, to trace with his tongue or fingertips. The thought of it marked with a tattoo to match Harry’s is totally overwhelming.

After conferring with Louis for a moment on the exact placement and size he wants for the key, Kayla leaves the room to draw a sketch. Liam looks between Harry and Louis and excuses himself as well, leaving them alone.

Louis smiles over at Harry and holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers. “Hey.”

Harry lets Louis take his hand and pull him closer.

“Hey.” He squeezes Louis’ fingers and rubs his thumb over Louis’ hip with his other hand. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t know, probably since you started getting so many.” His eyes travel up Harry’s wrist, over the small collection of tattoos there. “I guess I realised how much it could mean.”

Still in shock, Harry can only shake his head. “God.”

Louis grins, looking pleased that he’s managed to surprise him so much. “You never thought I’d get any tatts, did you?”

“No,” Harry agrees immediately. “And now two in one day, one to match mine...fuck, Louis.” He leans down and kisses Louis hungrily, his thumb pressing down on Louis’ hip again. He can’t put into words what it means to him that Louis is doing this. Instead he tries to feed it all into that kiss; all his love, his gratitude, his amazement. Louis’ fingers twist into his hair as their mouths move together hotly.

There’s a tap on the door and Harry pulls away with a dirty, slick noise just as Kayla and Liam re-enter the room. Kayla glances at them; red-mouthed, flushed, and a small but knowing smile curves her lips. “Ready?”

Louis nods. He looks nervous but certain, and he doesn’t flinch when Kayla leans over him with the gun at the ready.

The design doesn't take long, and this time Louis doesn't make a noise. He just looks at Harry, his thumb continuing to touch at Harry's padlock tattoo. Harry can almost feel it, the connection between them and the bond that they're strengthening right here, right now. Louis once said that it didn't matter that he couldn't get a tattoo for Harry. He'd said that he didn't need to mark himself with Harry's love; it was already there, imprinted on his heart and engraved on his ribs. Harry understood that; felt the impact of his feelings like an earthquake, like a sledgehammer. Meeting Louis had changed him forever, inside and out. It felt right to show that on his skin, a reminder but also a claim.

Now - Louis beside him, staring into his eyes as he willingly brands himself with a symbol of devotion and trust, of faith...Harry can barely contain the joy swelling inside him. It's an emotional moment for both of them, gripping tight to each other as the key is finished.

Kayla has to clear her throat several times before Louis and Harry look away from each other.

"You're all done, hon."

Louis blinks slowly, shaking his head as though to clear it. He lets go of Harry's hand and sits up, bending over to inspect the new ink. Harry cranes his neck to look too. It's tiny, hopefully barely visible to anyone else. But it's definitely there, and undeniably a key. "Wow," he breathes. He's absolutely aching to touch Louis properly, to pull him into an embrace, a kiss, anything. With Kayla and several other people in the shop looking on, he just can't. Louis understands, looking just as frustrated. He pulls Harry to sit beside him as Kayla gives their aftercare instructions, his hand sneaking behind them to slip beneath Harry's shirt and rest against his bare skin. The touch anchors Harry a little and he shifts as close as he can so they're pressed together along their sides, sharing warmth.

 

Harry is due to go next, and Kayla requests a short break to get ready for him. Louis and Harry glance at each other, then at Liam. Liam rolls his eyes fondly. "Go on."

The bathroom at the back of the shop is small, but it's clean and the lock clicks in a reassuring sort of way when Louis flips it shut. Harry crowds him against the door, his hands cupping Louis' face as he leans down and licks into his mouth. Louis makes a startled noise, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud. Harry kisses him wet and thorough, his thumbs rubbing at the hinges of Louis' jaw as Louis opens up and kisses him back. Louis cranes up to meet his mouth, flattening his palms against Harry's sides.

Harry has to ease off eventually, his heart racing. He bites Louis' lip gently before he pulls away, opening his eyes. Louis is flushed pink, his eyes hazy grey-blue as he blinks slowly up at Harry.

"I can't believe you did that," Harry says, his voice coming out rough and deep. He's still holding Louis' face and he loosens his grip, strokes his thumb over Louis' obscene cheekbones. "I can't believe you did that."

Louis just smiles up at him. "Every lock needs a key, right? I'm yours."

Harry feels a smile bloom on his face, his cheeks aching with it. "I know you're mine."

 

Harry gets his own tattoos in something of a daze, still overwhelmed by what Louis has done for him. He registers the buzz of the needle and the sting, the pain as it presses into his forearms, but it's familiar to him. What Louis mentioned earlier was right; he likes the pain. The feeling that has him biting his lip and wincing also makes him flush with heat, closing his eyes and breathing deep at the intensity. He's usually at least half hard by the time any tattoo is finished, floating on a rush of endorphins.

Having Louis nearby is somewhat overwhelming, but Louis is very good at reading Harry. He steps back when it's needed, giving Harry room to breathe and collect himself. An hour later, Harry has two shiny new tattoos and Louis is praising him for staying so calm. Harry cuddles up to him in the car back to the hotel, hiding his pleased smile in Louis' neck.

 

Harry is still buzzing when they get back to their room. The moment the door closes behind them, Louis presses Harry up against it in a mirror image of what Harry did to him a couple of hours ago. Harry inhales sharply as Louis leans up to mouth at his jawline, his warm breath ghosting across Harry's skin. "How are you feeling, darling?" Louis asks, voice raspy. "Sore?" His fingertips skim over Harry's arms, not touching where the new tattoos are wrapped but coming so close that Harry feels goosebumps prickle under his skin.

Harry gulps. "Yeah," he turns his head, tries to catch Louis' mouth but Louis evades him with a teasing little grin. His raised eyebrow says 'not yet' and Harry leans back against the door, grateful for the support.

"Good sore, yeah?" Louis steps back enough that he can look into Harry's eyes, holding him still with his gaze.

"Yeah," Harry says again. He never got the chance to calm down after the tattoo and it feels like he's been hard for hours, aching with it. Louis is so close, radiating heat and Harry can't help the way his hips push out into the air between them, seeking touch. "Lou, please -"

"Mmm?" Louis surprises him, stepping right into Harry's space, his body fitting against Harry's smoothly as he presses his mouth to Harry's jaw again. His hips push against Harry's and Harry groans at the sudden touch, his cock twitching. Louis kisses softly along his jaw, nips at his earlobe. "Do you want something?"

"I -" mindful of the sore new tattoo, Harry's hands finds Louis' hips and curl around them, gripping tightly as he tries to pull Louis closer. His hips buck, rutting against Louis through their jeans, and Harry closes his eyes in pleasure as he finally gets a bit of friction. "Just - touch me, please -"

Louis laughs softly, the evil little chuckle he gets when he knows he's winning at a game. His breath is hot against Harry's ear, making Harry shiver. Louis noses at his neck and pushes Harry's hair back. He latches onto the skin with his teeth, sucking so hard that Harry gasps and digs his fingers into Louis' hips. Louis only figured out recently that he can do this, can leave little bite marks or hickies on Harry's neck where they'll be covered by his curls later. He loves it.

Harry pushes his cock against Louis' hip again, helplessly aroused. Louis digs his teeth in sharply, warns, "Stay still." Harry does, going limp against the door and letting Louis finish sucking the mark into his neck.

When Louis is satisfied, Harry's neck is throbbing and he's just about ready to come in his jeans. Louis licks at his neck one more time, soothing against the sore skin. He kisses Harry, deep and surprisingly gentle with his hands resting on the back of Harry's neck. Harry leans down into him, running his hands up and down Louis' back under his shirt. When they pull away, Louis just looks at him for a moment and says, "So good for me," in this warm voice that makes Harry flush to the tips of his ears in pleasure.

Harry finds his voice, pushes out a rough, "Always," and Louis smiles at him. His hands travel down Harry's torso, fingers curling deftly into his belt and tugging at the loops. Harry hisses as the zipper of his jeans is tugged down, as Louis frees his cock from the confines of his underwear. Louis' hand wraps around him instantly, his grip tight and sure.

"You're all worked up," Louis observes, stroking him once, dry and rough. Harry moans loudly, pushing into the touch.

Louis spits into his hand, slicks the length of Harry's cock with it and starts jerking him off properly, twisting his wrist a little. Harry grunts and a wet drop of precome beads at the tip of his dick. He's so close already, hours of buildup and the lingering pain in his wrist and neck enough to push him to the edge. "Lou, can I -" he begs desperately.

Louis thumbs at the head of his cock, his hand working him over hot and perfect. "Yeah, go on," he allows, and Harry whines as his orgasm hits him a moment later. He spills over Louis' fingers, his brain blanking out for a long moment as his hips jerk into Louis' touch.

He watches, dazed, as Louis delicately licks his fingers clean and tucks Harry back into his jeans. He fixes Harry's sweaty hair, sweeping the curls back into place with practiced ease. Louis' thumb grazes against the mark on Harry's neck, probably not accidentally. Harry jumps slightly at the touch and Louis' eyes darken. He presses against the bruise, undeniably deliberate now. "Mine, yeah?"

"Yes," Harry glances downward, wishes he could see the outline of the key on Louis' hip. "You, too."

"Yes."

 

Their interview at the Late Late Show goes well, after that. Louis is bright and chirpy, wrapped in Harry's grey jumper and Harry can't get enough of it; Louis in his clothes, Louis in his ink, Louis in his heart. They aren't bothered by some of the more annoying questions, and Louis even goes so far as to cough obnoxiously loud when Harry is asked about dating. He's pushing it, but there's a glint in his eye that tells Harry he doesn't even care. It makes Harry feel light, freer than he has in weeks.

Louis wears Harry’s jumper all night, through the airport and the flight back to London. When they get home he flops into bed in just a pair of pyjama pants. Harry wraps around him, careful of both their sore tattoos, and tucks his face into Louis’ shoulder. It smells like both of them.

 

Harry is well-versed in how addictive tattoos can be. He often goes in for one and ends up with three, so he’s not exactly surprised when Louis gets another tatt within days of his first. The skateboarding stick figure is equal parts dumb, whimsical and completely endearing. It suits Louis perfectly. Louis keeps it wrapped under the protective plastic throughout the shooting of Little Things, but he keeps wanting to tug back the covering and show it off. He’s wearing Harry’s shirt again, a long sleeved white one Harry only bought recently. Harry’s used to all that by now (between the five of them he’s not sure they ever wear their own clothes), but he likes that Louis chose to wear his shirt when he got the new tattoo – almost like he was comforted by it through the pain. Louis wouldn’t admit it if Harry asked, but it’s a nice thought.

 

They’re busy over the next couple of days, popping in and out of radio stations all over the country for interviews and promo. It’s fun, easy and familiar to actually be working in England after all the international work they’ve been doing lately.

In their spare time, Harry and Zayn have taken to doing small tattoos on each other. They have the supervision and guidance of Lou Teasdale’s husband Tom, who is always willing to let them borrow his kit. It’s an amazing thing to learn; exactly how the ink works, what each setting on the gun means, how to angle it just right for shading work. Harry and Zayn are still terrible at it, but it’s pretty great even when they’re just fooling around.

Tonight, Harry’s doing one for Zayn, just a small design on his left shoulder, near the new skull tattoo. It’s after dinner and Niall and Liam are watching a movie next door. Louis is currently curled up on the sofa, talking to his mum on the phone, and Zayn is sprawled on the bed with Harry leaning over him. Harry has his tongue held between his teeth, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he angles the needle just right. Zayn is quiet beneath him, almost zoning out as Harry finishes up. He sits back, passing Zayn some tissues and the protective wrapping so he can do the rest himself.

Harry is just taking the needle out of the gun, about to strip his gloves off when the bed dips with Louis’ weight. “Lemme see,” he says, lifting his chin in Zayn’s direction. Zayn leans forward so Louis can see and Louis grins. “Wicked,” he says. He touches Harry’s back and says, casual as anything, “So, when are you going to do my ‘H’?”

Harry drops the tattoo gun on the bed.

Zayn swears, leaping forward to grab it before it smears ink all over the sheets. “What the fuck, Haz?!”

“Sorry,” Harry says faintly, not looking away from Louis. His mouth has dropped open and he must look like an idiot, gaping at him. “Lou –“

Louis’ face softens. He touches Harry’s cheek fondly and asks, “You really think I wouldn’t?”

Harry thinks about Louis’ habit of drawing little ink ‘L’s on his skin with Sharpies or pens. He’s done it dozens of times, at signings or events, marking Harry in his own little way. The ‘L’s have been dotted all over Harry’s body; his hands, the inside of his wrists, his chest, his hips, even the small of his back once when Louis was feeling cheeky. Then, finally – a permanent one, tattooed into the skin of his inner thigh many months ago. The little “L” is extremely special to Harry. He often finds himself thinking about it, or reaching down to thumb over it when he’s in the shower. On days that Louis is out with Eleanor or when the papers are writing about Harry’s newest ‘girlfriend’, the mark is a reminder for him.

Zayn must sense the intimacy of the moment because he excuses himself with a quiet, “All yours, mate,” and a touch to Harry’s shoulder. The door shuts behind him, leaving them alone.

“You don’t have to,” Harry says to Louis. “This isn’t like – tattoo for tattoo, you know what I mean? Just because I have them...”

Louis is quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. “I’m not getting it because you got one for me,” he says slowly. “H, I think I’ve always wanted to show that I’m yours. I never thought about tattoos because I never thought I could stand to get any.” Unconsciously, it seems, his hand has strayed to press over his hip where the key tattoo is hidden. When he looks at Harry again, his expression is determined. “I really want this.”

Harry leans in and presses their foreheads together for a long moment, closes his eyes and just absorbs what’s about to happen. “Okay,” he says, and kisses Louis softly. “Where do you want it?”

“Same place as yours,” Louis says immediately, and it hits Harry that Louis has thought about this, planned it out like he knew it was going to happen all along. It’s a bit much for him to cope with, a flood of good feeling and this thrum of mine, mine, mine making Harry feel a little dizzy. He can feel his eyes starting to glaze over a little, his brain fogging and his thoughts going hazy. He’s used to the feeling of going down like this, but it’s been awhile since it’s happened on its own, without Louis deliberately putting him there. Harry struggles to maintain control, clinging to any coherent thought he can find. “I need to, um. Sterilise, and –" he fumbles, fingers suddenly thick and clumsy as he tries to clean the gun.

Louis’ hand on his is warm, steady. “Hey, hey. You’re losing it, sweetheart.”

“M’sorry,” Harry mumbles, his head still swimming a little. He can feel the pull of it, can feel how close he is to slipping down into subspace and he can’t decide whether he wants to give in to it or not.

“Shh, it’s okay, just take some deep breaths for me while I clear this out of the way, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Louis’ voice is soothing but sure and Harry is grateful for the clear instruction. He closes his eyes, breathing slowly. Louis moves the tattoo kit well away from the bed, then sits down beside him and places a hand on the back of Harry’s neck, squeezing gently. “What do you need, Haz? You want me to put you under properly or can you come back up on your own?”

Harry attempts to focus. He wants to do Louis’ tattoo but he can’t now, not when he’s this shaky. He just needs to stop thinking for a little while, needs Louis to take care of him. “Down,” he decides, looking at Louis with big eyes. “Please, Lou.”

Louis’ response is to squeeze the back of his neck again, much more forcefully than before, and Harry draws in a shuddery breath. Something changes in Louis’ face, as he takes a moment to slip into the right state of mind for what Harry needs. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve even done a scene. They’re just too busy for it lately. Harry’s missed it, now that he thinks about it. He missed the strength of Louis’ voice as he commands Harry to take off his clothes, missed the simple pleasure of obeying as quickly as possible.

Harry slips into routine easily, kneeling naked in the middle of the bed with his hands folded neatly over his crotch. He’s hard already, but he knows better than to touch himself until Louis says he can.

"Eyes," Louis says, and Harry's eyes slide shut. He breathes deep through his nose, registering the quiet of the room around them. Then the bed is shifting with Louis' movement, the sounds of fabric moving as he strips out of his clothes. It's always a peaceful feeling for Harry, a relief to let go and know that he doesn't have to think at all. He gives himself up to it, welcomes the haze that's settling over his mind.

"Move back against the headboard," Louis says. "Hands by your side."

Harry obeys; then Louis is settling into his lap, his knees on either side of Harry's hips and his ass settling on Harry's thighs. Harry's hands twitch to touch, wanting to steady him in place, to touch Louis' soft hips. He doesn't. Louis' hands skim his shoulders, a teasing touch over his collarbones before they cup his neck. Harry gives a small gasp of surprise when Louis' lips touch his, a gentle pressure. Unsure, he doesn't respond to it immediately. He feels Louis smile against his mouth. "Good boy," Louis praises, easing forward so they're slotted together better. He's radiating warmth and Harry's cock throbs with how much he wants to touch. "Kiss me," Louis breathes, and nips at Harry's mouth. "But don't touch, not yet."

It's shockingly intense, kissing Louis without being able to touch him properly. Louis is still sitting in his lap, warm and light, and Harry can feel him, how close he is, but his hands hang uselessly by his sides. Louis is kissing him slow and deep, taking his time to suck at Harry's tongue and nibble gently at his bottom lip. Harry forgets, after a time, about everything except for the kiss, everything narrowing down to Louis' soft mouth on his.

Louis' hands slip down from his neck, running the length of his arms to hold Harry's hands in his own. Harry's fingers curl automatically over Louis', his big hands enveloping Louis' delicate ones. He exhales shakily against Louis' cheek and Louis kisses the corner of his mouth before pulling back enough to meet his eyes. "Okay?"

Harry nods. His mouth feels heavy and swollen and he licks his lips, gazing at Louis. Louis watches him for a moment before he breaks into a fond smile, looking slightly awed. "God, you just went right down, didn't you?" he murmurs, one hand disconnecting from Harry's to reach up and stroke through his curls. Harry's eyes close blissfully and he leans into the touch, dopey and pliant.

Time passes differently for Harry when he's in this kind of state, so it feels like he blinks and a moment later Louis is pressing a bottle of lube into his hands. He smears it over Harry's fingers, guiding his hand back and murmuring, "Slow."

Louis draws a quick intake of breath when Harry presses up against his hole for the first time, and he shifts in Harry's lap like he's trying not to push into the touch. Harry eases inside as slow as he can, marveling over how tight Louis feels. Louis is quiet, but his long eyelashes flutter when he allows Harry to nudge a second finger in alongside the first, and there's a flush spreading down his neck.

Louis controls every moment, a whispered, "Faster," or "More," until he's finally ready to sink down on Harry's cock. He gives Harry a bit more free rein then and they're pressed so close, Louis' hands squeezing Harry's shoulders for leverage and Harry's hands cupped around his ass as Louis rocks his hips. They're panting against each others' mouths as Louis speeds up, his muscles tightening on Harry's cock. "Don't want you to come until I do," Louis says. He bites Harry's lower lip, drawing it between his teeth and then licking away the pain. Harry whimpers, his hands clenching. He can't hold off much longer, it hurts how hard he is and he just needs to come, can feel it building in the base of his spine. "Make me come," Louis whispers, his mouth against Harry's hair and there's a challenge in his voice.

Harry grips Louis' slim hips, starts fucking up into him hard like he's wanted to all along, so Louis isn't riding him anymore so much as he's just being bounced on Harry's cock. He hisses out a "Yes, fuck, Harry, yes," and Harry changes up the angle to hit Louis' prostate perfectly. Louis kind of chokes on thin air and whimpers into Harry's neck and Harry slams up into him, deep enough to make Louis gasp. Harry's hand unwraps from Louis' hip, smoothes over the soft muscle of his ass to feel where his own cock is sliding up into him. Louis feels stretched and hot, and Harry starts nudging his finger in alongside his cock, filling Louis even more. Louis cries out and comes all over their stomachs, his thighs trembling.

He's pleased, mouthing lazily at Harry's neck and telling him he did so well, telling him that he can come now because he's been so good. Harry fucks into him a few more times and finally, finally comes, stars exploding behind his eyes as he spills inside Louis.

 

Louis never likes Harry to pull out of him immediately. He likes to feel it for as long as he can, draws out the feeling. He kisses Harry after, kisses him for ages while he's still perched in Harry's lap. They kiss slow and easy and dopey, smiling at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Louis trails his hand down between them, over their wet bellies to wipe up some of his own come and bring it to Harry's lips. Harry lets it be smeared over his mouth and then Louis kisses it off, sucking the taste of himself off Harry's tongue. He feeds all of his come to Harry, watching with heated eyes as Harry just smiles dazedly and laps at his fingers.

"You came so hard, darling," Louis murmurs, nipping at the skin beneath Harry's ear. "I feel so wet inside, I love it."

Harry feels himself flush with heat, too much too fast as Louis continues to talk. "I want you to try something for me, okay? I want you to get hard and fuck me again."

Harry's sensitive, he only came a few minutes ago, but he wants this, wants so much to please Louis. Louis shifts against him, reminding Harry of how warm and tight his body still is around Harry's cock. He's whispering in Harry's ear about how much he wants Harry to come inside him again, about how he wants to be filled with it until he's dripping, how claimed he feels right now, so marked by Harry's come. Harry nearly tears up with the intensity of it as he starts to get hard again inside him.

Louis can feel it right away and his face breaks into a proud smile. "Yes," he hisses, his hands on Harry's neck. He kisses him, slicks his tongue into Harry's mouth and rocks his hips. "That's so good, you're so good, baby."

Harry's so overstimulated, flushed and breathless but he's trying so hard to do this for Louis. He finally starts to fuck him like Louis wants, his thrusts jerky and his hands gripping Louis' hips. It's messy and it hurts and Harry's head is spinning but Louis is moving with him, squeezing down on him and telling him to come, now, Harry. Harry whines, frustrated tears filling his eyes and he whimpers, "I can’t."

Louis' eyes flash. "Yes you can, I know you can," he rocks faster in Harry's lap, then pinches Harry’s nipple hard enough for Harry to cry out and come. It overwhelms him, coming again so quickly, and Harry whimpers through it before slumping with his face pressed into Louis’ neck.

 

Louis climbs off him gently, peppers kisses all over Harry's face as Harry tries to catch his breath. He's fuzzy, spaced out but so, so happy because Louis is pleased, because Louis is telling him how he did so well, did exactly what he wanted. Louis brings Harry's hand down between his legs and he really is dripping, come seeping out of him all wet and messy. Harry flushes even more at that, at how good it is to claim Louis so viscerally.

He feels melted and warm, his thoughts slow, but it's okay because Louis is so good at taking care of him when he's like this. He helps Harry lie down on his back and drapes himself over Harry's chest, kissing him softly and stroking his stomach with warm, soothing hands. "How are you doing, love?" Louis asks, and it takes Harry awhile to answer, swimming up through his foggy brain to smile slowly at Louis. "Feels good."

Louis smiles back at him, asks, "You're not quite with me yet, are you?" and Harry shakes his heavy head.

Louis waits him out, not leaving Harry's side until his eyes and thoughts start to clear. Harry focuses on him and mumbles, "Hi, I think I'm back," with a sleepy grin. Louis touches his face one more time and asks, "Do you need anything?"

"Water would be nice."

"You okay if I leave you here for a minute?"

"Mm.”

Louis gets Harry a glass of water and strokes his hair as Harry drinks. "I need to shower, you made quite a mess of me," Louis comments with a smug smile. "You should go to sleep, love. We'll do my tattoo tomorrow."

Harry had almost forgotten what started all this in the first place. He nuzzles Louis' palm, kissing it before he puts his glass down and lays back. He always sleeps like the dead after they do this; peaceful, heavy and dreamless.

Louis gazes down at him and says, "I love you," quiet with his hand steady on Harry's chest.

Harry smiles at him. "I love you too."

 

Harry is calm enough the next day to do Louis' 'H' tattoo. They do it in the morning, before they have to leave for yet another radio appearance. It doesn't take long, and then Louis is wincing slightly as he stands and - it's done. He's marked now - branded as Harry's own. Harry does it in the same place Louis did his 'L' - high and hidden on his inner thigh.

Harry can't stop thinking about it all day. In their interviews, Louis is hyper to the point of obnoxiousness, goading Liam into fooling around and laughing when he's told off. Harry can't help but be drawn into his orbit, as usual, laughing at his stupid jokes and staring when he shouldn't be. Louis' mesmerising when he smiles, when he laughs - so full of life and fun and mischief. Harry feels like a sap for admitting it but Louis really does light up his damn world.

Louis finally drops in the afternoon, curling up small and soft against Harry's side in the van on the way to Leeds. Harry drapes an arm around him and pulls him close, smiling when Louis nuzzles his face into his neck. He falls asleep soon after, his hand still curled into Harry's jumper. Harry drops a kiss to his forehead and turns to his phone to fill the time for the rest of the drive.

It's not exactly an accident that he ends up googling couples tattoo. It's something he'd thought about before, many months ago, before he knew how much Louis disliked needles. That's all changed now, and while the initials are wonderful, they're secret. Harry wants more. Something mysterious like his others, sure, but at least visible.

(If Harry takes a moment to fantasise about two, three years in the future when they can actually get matching tattoos that scream to the world that they belong to each other...well. That's for Harry to keep, a little kindling for the tiny flame of hope in his heart for the life that awaits them when all this is over.)

Most of the couples tattoos are similar - infinity symbols, hearts, flowers. He likes the ones that match up, one half on each person so they only make sense when they're together. Much like himself and Louis. Harry smiles privately to himself as he bookmarks a few to show Louis later, and can't help putting one up on Instagram too.

When Louis wakes up, blinking blearily at Harry, he shoves the phone under his nose, startling Louis in his enthusiasm. "Babe, look. Since you're getting tattoos -"

To his credit, Louis is surprisingly patient despite having just been woken up. He takes Harry's phone and scrolls dutifully through the pictures. Harry watches as a small smile grows on Louis' face. "S'lovely," Louis comments quietly. He points out a few that he likes.

He hands Harry his phone after awhile, slumping down against Harry's side again and pressing an absent kiss to his neck. "Can't just be something random, though," he murmurs sleepily. "Has to be personal, like."

"Yeah," Harry says, pocketing his phone and looking out the window, thoughtful. "Personal."

 

"You're addicted," Harry teases in a sing-song voice two days later. Louis' been out at the tattoo parlour again. He'd said he was going to support Liam, but he's come home with quotation marks on his wrist and "Far Away" in blocky letters up his bicep.

"You can't talk," Louis says. He smiles fondly down at the fresh ink on his right arm, turning it this way and that to inspect it. "So what do you think?"

"I like them," Harry says honestly. It's a surprisingly nice day, for London at least, and he'd been reading in their backyard when Louis came home. Now, he reaches for Louis' un-inked arm and tugs on it, encouraging Louis to flop down into his lap so he can see the tattoos better.

Louis sits across his thighs, looping his arm around Harry's shoulders to hold himself steady. He bares his wrist to Harry and Harry curls his fingers gently around it, careful not to touch the sore spots. The quotation marks are nice - they're subtle and they complement the slenderness of Louis's wrist.

"So tell me the deep and fascinating meaning behind it?" Harry asks, although he has an idea.

Louis shrugs. "Just reminding myself to know what we really say versus what they say we say." He makes a face. "Okay, that sounds dumb, but -"

"I know what you mean," Harry interrupts. "It's to remember that you're not what they make you out to be."

"You either," Louis says. He rolls his eyes and mutters, "Four hundred and ten in a year, honestly..."

Harry huffs a laugh. He trails his fingertips lightly up Louis' arm until he reaches the "Far Away". "And this one?"

"For mum and the girls," Louis says promptly. "Pretty self-explanatory, innit?"

"Yeah," Harry agrees, and it is. It's so perfectly Louis, to get a tattoo about missing his family. He worries, sometimes, about how little he gets to see them, about what he's missing out on as his sisters grow up. Harry knows he feels guilty, too, about being away all the time.

"They understand," he says, and bundles Louis in against him so he can rest his lips against Louis' hair. He rubs his shoulder. "You know they do, and they love you no matter where you are."

"Yeah," Louis mutters, tucking his head under Harry's chin. "Just miss 'em, is all."

 

It's funny how sometimes you miss people the most just before you see them again; Louis takes the train home to Doncaster just a few days later. Harry waits long enough to be discreet before he follows. He drives with Lou and Tom, on babysitting duty with Lux in the backseat.

It's growing dark when they arrive at Louis' grandfather's. Keith opens the front door as Harry is helping unload Lux' pram from the car, and Harry smiles. "Hello, Mr Tomlinson," he says politely.

"Harry," Keith beams at him and comes down the stairs to wrap him in a bear hug. Harry, never one to turn down a good cuddle, squeezes him tightly before he pulls away. "Good to see you, lad."

They all pile into the house, Keith cooing over Lux, Lou thanking him profusely for his offer of somewhere to stay for the weekend. Keith waves her off, insisting he's got plenty of room and that, 'you're family,' with a wink in Harry's direction. Harry feels a pleased blush spread over his cheeks. He's felt a part of Louis' family since they day Jay walked onto the X-Factor set and said, 'So you're the one my boy can't stop talking about?' before wrapping him in a hug. Still, it's nice to be reminded.

Keith shows Harry to a guest room on the second floor of the house. "As you can see, Lou's already been here," he says dryly, indicating the messy pile of clothes on the double bed, the open duffle bag on the floor, and a damp towel thrown over a chair. Harry makes a tutting noise and quickly gathers the dirty clothes, throwing them, along with the towel, into the laundry basket in the corner. He puts his own bag down beside Louis' and can't help reaching out to zip Louis' shut.

When he looks up, Harry finds Keith watching him fondly, an amused twinkle in his eye that's far too reminiscent of his absent grandson.

"I like to be neat," Harry says sheepishly.

"He's lucky he's got you cleaning up after him," Keith says. "I hope he's not such a mess at home."

Harry shrugs. "He does his part."

It's true, mostly. Harry's neat and Louis' kind of messy, doesn't think twice about leaving jackets on the couch or his shoes in the hallway when he kicks them off. Harry's certainly the one more likely to pick up after them both, but Louis makes a point of loading the dishwasher when Harry cooks for him and he doesn't mind putting laundry away either. Harry's never been particularly bothered by the difference; he doesn't mind clearing up after Louis and he's used to it by now anyway.

He sits down on his side of the bed, glancing up at Keith again. The older man is eyeing him thoughtfully, his arms crossed over his chest. Louis sometimes does the same thing when he can't quite figure out how to say something, so Harry waits him out.

"Are you two alright?" Keith asks finally. "You know I follow some of what happens online..."

Harry suppresses a sigh. On the one hand, it's pretty cool that a grandfather is so in touch with something like Twitter. His own grandfather barely knows what a computer is. On the other hand, he's not keen on their families being exposed to the undiluted crazy that is their fanbase. It's one of the reasons Louis keeps trying to convince Keith to delete his account.

"We're fine," Harry says quietly. He can't help glancing down at the padlock on his wrist as he speaks, thinking about the matching key on Louis' hip. They are fine - September was tricky, what with the twitter debacle and their shakiness around Itunes Fest, but they've moved on. There's worse to come, too - the people in their team are really starting to make noises about the Taylor situation, which Harry's been trying to put off for months. But for now - here, this weekend, at home with Louis' family - they're fine.

Keith looks like he wants to say something more, but they're interrupted by footsteps pounding down the hallway. Louis appears at the door frame a moment later, hovering at his grandfather's shoulder. "Hey," he says, grinning at both of them. He's clearly just been at football training, still in loose black shorts and a dirty once-white t-shirt. His hair is everywhere, matted down with sweat at his temples and his face is still flushed and a little damp.

It's a good look on him. Harry grins back at him from his spot on the bed and Louis slips past Keith to enter the room. "How was the drive up?" he asks, toeing off his trainers and flopping down next to Harry. The smell of damp, dirty socks fills the room and Harry wrinkles his nose.

"It was fine," he says. "Babe, can you get rid of your dirty shoes and socks? That's rank."

"In a minute," Louis says, waving a hand unconcernedly and leaning in for a quick hello kiss. Harry accepts it automatically but he can't help his frown as they pull away.

"You actually really stink."

Louis just laughs, flicking damp hair out of his eyes. "No hard work without a little sweat, Styles."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "I know, I've seen you work up a sweat enough times."

It's a lazy attempt at flirting but Louis smirks back at him all the same and they stare at each other for a moment while Harry calculates how much time they have before dinner.

Keith clears his throat pointedly from the doorway and Harry and Louis jump, looking away from each other.

"Your mother and the girls will be here in about an hour, I suggest you clean up before then," Keith says, and if anything he just seems amused. "By the way, did you know this door has a lock?"

He raises his eyebrows at them briefly before turning and walking away, and Louis makes a strangled sort of noise before he manages to yell, "Thanks, grandad!" and Harry collapses into giggles against his side.

Louis buries his faces in his hands. "Oh my god," he mutters. "Did my grandfather just give me permission to shag my boyfriend in his house?"

"I feel like I'm in some high school romance film," Harry muses, bending to retrieve Louis' smelly trainers. He leaves them out in the hallway to take outside later, then closes the door and makes good use of the aforementioned lock.

Louis, in the process of stripping out of his filthy clothes, looks over at him. "Why's that?"

"Oh you know, classic tale. Trying to get into this fit footy player's pants before his mum gets home," Harry smiles and moves to place his hands on Louis' now-bare hips. The skin is very warm, still damp, and the unpleasant sweaty smell still lingers but there's also the lovely scents of grass and skin and boy.

Louis sways into his touch, stripped down to just the shorts now, his hands on Harry's waist. "Does that make you a cheerleader or something?" he asks, already leaning up in anticipation of a kiss.

Harry cranes down to meet him, his eyes crossing as he tries to look at Louis from such a close angle. "Head cheerleader," he murmurs against Louis' mouth, and Louis giggles into the kiss.

They stay there for a moment, just kissing slowly. Harry finds himself stroking his fingertips up and down Louis' sides, tracing the lines of him, where his hips curve out and up into the dip of his waist.

When they pull away, Louis grins up at him. "If you're the head cheerleader, does that mean I get to feel you up in the change rooms after training?"

Harry pretends to muse over this for a moment, still tracing his fingertips over Louis' waist. "Well, head cheerleaders should give good head, right?" he asks, because he can never, ever resist making a bad pun.

He gets the reaction he expects - Louis' patented oh-my-god-I-can't-believe-I'm-in-love-with-this-loser eyeroll/crinkly smile combo. "Idiot," Louis says fondly.

"I don't hear you saying no," Harry points out. He thinks about dropping to his knees there and then, but the floor is hardwood and Louis still kind of stinks. "Only if we move to the shower, though." He wrinkles his nose again and Louis laughs, nodding.

"You've got yourself a deal."

 

Jay and the girls show up an hour later and they have a very pleasant, very loud family dinner, crowded into Keith's dining room. Louis is practically glowing with happiness, the special kind of content he only seems to get when he's surrounded by his girls. As for Harry, he's relatively quiet for most of the evening, mostly just watching the family together. Harry thinks that he and Louis' similar family backgrounds is one of the reasons they fit together so well. They're both very close with their mothers and siblings, both place family first, and both look forward to starting a family of their own. It's just another thing that fuels Harry's belief that he and Louis could last so long - they share the same dreams, the same vision for the future. He's not sure how he'd feel if Louis was the kind of person who didn't like or want kids, whether it would change how he felt about their relationship. They're so young that it shouldn't matter either way, but Harry's the kind of person who likes to dream about these things, likes to make plans and have things to look forward to. Not including Louis in his future would feel wrong.

 

Jay ushers them all to bed early, chattering about what a big day they all have ahead of them tomorrow. She flits around the room, showering her children in goodnight hugs and forehead-kisses. Harry is not exempt, a fact which Louis seems to find hilarious. He's still smiling as he takes Harry's hand and leads the way upstairs to their room. "She's going to adopt you one day, I swear."

"I wouldn't mind," Harry says honestly.

 

Harry wakes terribly early the next morning, when the world outside is still cold and gray, weak light peeking through the gap in the curtains. He rolls over, wondering what it was that woke him, and realises that Louis' side of the bed is empty. Louis is pacing the room in his pyjamas, apparently half getting ready and half just fiddling with his phone in a nervous, twitchy sort of way. Harry watches him for a moment and then props himself up on one elbow, breaking the silence with a soft, "Boo, what are you doing?"

Louis looks over at him, his expression sheepish. "Hey, Hazza. Sorry - m'just. Nervous, I guess. Don't know what to do with myself."

"You're going to be brilliant," Harry soothes for the hundredth time, and he says it with the same certainty he's felt all along. "Nothing's even happening for hours, you sod. C'mere."

Louis rolls his eyes but crawls into bed all the same. He allows himself to be folded up into Harry's arms, head against his chest with Harry's hand slipping under his shirt to pet at his lower back. "What if I'm crap?" he asks quietly, fingers moving in restless patterns over Harry's chest. Harry can practically feel him thrumming with nervous energy, his body tense as though ready to run at a moment's notice. "What if all these people showed up just to see me fail miserably, Haz?"

"You're going to be brilliant," Harry says again, firmly. Today means so much to Louis - it's something he's done all on his own, for his hometown, to support a cause he strongly believes in. It has nothing to do with the band, for once, and everything to do with Louis' beautiful heart and how much he just wants to help where he can. It's also one of the first times in ages that Louis has done something merely for himself, without the backing of four other boys, the first time he's had the spotlight purely on him, and Louis seems pretty terrified about that. "Listen, you trained so hard for this, and you're a great player anyway. You've got the whole team behind you, and your family, and me and Li and Nialler will all be there for you. Seriously, Lou - you're going to be great."

Louis doesn't speak for a little bit, clearly still sorting through all his nerves in his own head. "Yeah," he says after a while. He doesn't sound incredibly convinced but Harry can feel some of the nervous tension ebbing from his body, soothed by Harry's hand rubbing gentle circles on his back. "Thanks, babe."

 

Louis spends the morning with the children at the Hospice and they meet up in the afternoon at the stadium, which is already starting to fill with excited fans. Liam and Niall show up a couple of hours before the game is due to start, Niall with the lovely Amy on his arm. According to Niall, they're not 'officially' dating, but Harry kind of hopes they get it together . Harry's never seen Niall look at a girl the way he looks at Amy, and she's just his type. She's great fun to have around on the field with them as Louis and the boys warm-up. She's loud and funny and Niall looks at her with the kind of awe he usually reserves for a particularly impressive sandwich, which is saying a lot, for Niall. Harry hopes he doesn't mess it up, because Amy is great and Niall deserves someone like her.

Liam is there, too - slightly less battered and broken since the last time they saw each other, which Harry is grateful for. He even mentions, in a deliberately casual tone, that he and Danielle have been texting, 'just a little', but there's hope in his eyes and Harry just hopes it's not unfounded. Zayn doesn't come, but that's to be expected. Zayn absolutely treasures every moment at home with his family, not just his parents and siblings but with the Riach boys, and Perrie, too. He's always been resolute in his goal to spend as much time as possible with them whenever he's home, and Louis could never begrudge him that. Zayn can be fragile, sometimes, more than anyone would like to admit, and all the boys can do is look out for him and let him have this.

Harry spends much of the warm-up time wandering aimlessly around the pitch, stopping for conversation with some of the boys on Louis' team. He and Niall even borrow some cleats and kick the ball around for a bit, Harry awkward in his skinny jeans and oversized coat. Keith arrives with Jay and the girls some time later and then stays on the pitch while the twins, Fizzy and Lottie disappear to find Eleanor in the stands.

"El's here," Harry announces to Louis when he finds him in the locker room half an hour before the game is due to start. They're surrounded by the other players, all in varying states of undress. The room is full of nervous, excited chatter, the shouts of rowdy boy and the smell of sweat and grass. Louis is practically bouncing as he slips out of his red practice jersey, and he looks up at Harry with a distracted sort of smile.

"What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I saw her earlier, she's up the back with the girls, right?"

"Mm," Harry hums noncommittally. He never has much of an opinion when it comes to Eleanor, and barely interacts with her beyond a polite, awkward conversation every now and then. He's grateful that Louis put his foot down about who, exactly, was allowed to be on the pitch with him during the game. The thought of spending two hours watching Louis and El pretending to be a couple leaves a sour taste in Harry's mouth. With her up in the stands he's free to just enjoy the game.

Stripped to just underwear, Louis reaches for a pile of clothes beside him and starts to rifle through it. "Oh," he says, and hands Harry a blue t-shirt with 'Bluebell Wood' written on it. "Here, they gave me a few of them. Lovely, isn't it?"

Harry takes the shirt and changes into it immediately, stuffing his old one into Louis' bag for later. "How was it, anyway?" he asks.

Louis chatters away happily as he changes, speaking warmly of the children he got to speak with and how kind and grateful the staff were. He's obviously had a wonderful time, genuinely thrilled with the chance to spend time with the kids he's helping. Harry feels a wave of affection wash over him for this amazing boy and his huge heart. He barely suppresses an enormous, smitten grin and wishes there weren't so many people around so he could hug Louis.

When Louis is dressed, looking obscenely attractive in tight compression shorts and an equally clingy lycra undershirt, he slips his black and white jersey over his head and grins at Harry, arms spread wide. "What do you think, am I the new Beckham or what?"

"Hotter," Harry says, his eyes raking appreciatively over Louis' body. Fuck, he really looks good. The knee-high socks and shorts are doing wonders for his legs and the dip of his narrow waist is so pronounced from the undershirt. Harry's hands twitch with how much he just wants to grab Louis, get his hands all over his perfect, curvy little body. "Way, way hotter."

Louis blushes faintly and bends to pull his left sock up higher. "Not sure if that's going to help me score -" he says, and laughs when Harry smirks. "Score goals, Harold. With the ball. On the football pitch. I already know I'm scoring with you later, you slag."

Unrepentant, Harry just grins at him and shrugs. "What can I say, I'm a sucker for a man in uniform."

 

The game itself is just pure fun. Harry gets totally sucked into the atmosphere of it all, the cheering and the excitement. He, Liam, Niall, Josh and Amy form their own little cheering squad, yelling and dancing every time the team does anything remotely exciting. He feels flushed with pride and affection and an easy, uncomplicated sense of joy.

Watching Louis play is quite amazing. Harry always knew Louis was a pretty decent footballer, but nothing he's seen before is anything like this. Louis is good, quick and confident and entirely focused. He also seems to be having the time of his life and Harry's just so glad about it because Louis deserves every moment.

At halftime, Louis gets caught up with the other players, laughing and talking about the game before he finally makes his way over to their group on the sidelines. Harry feels his face light up in a massive smile as Louis approaches and he pulls him in for a hug immediately. Louis is distracted, still talking to someone else over Harry's shoulder and pulls away quickly, despite Niall's attempt to push them together. Harry doesn't mind; he's too hyped and eager at the chance to just talk to Louis for the five minute break.

When the match is over (when Louis' team wins), Louis gives a stuttery but extremely sweet speech thanking the crowd and the players for their support. He's obviously a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, not used to all the attention being on him. He still seems kind of shell-shocked when he finds his way back to the locker room afterwards. Harry watches from the background as Louis is enveloped in hugs everywhere he turns, as the older and far more experienced players pat him on the back and congratulate him on playing so well. Louis accepts it all in a happy sort of daze, his smile wide and unwavering.

Finally, the crowd begins to thin, players finishing their showers and shouting their goodbyes, family and friends swooping in for one last hug. Even Jay leaves, but not before cupping Louis' cheeks and telling him in a tearful voice just how proud she is to have such a wonderful son.

When the locker room is empty except for the two of them, Louis looks around and his smile widens impossibly when he catches sight of Harry. "Were you here the whole time?"

"Outnumbered by your adoring fans," Harry says with a nod, and pushes himself away from the locker he was leaning against. "You're a fucking star, you know that?"

He wraps Louis in a tight hug and lifts him easily off his feet, spinning him in a happy circle while Louis laughs into his neck. When he sets Louis down he keeps him close, holding onto him tightly.

[](http://s24.photobucket.com/user/Dot1234/media/1_zps6074eb99.jpg.html)

 

"I don't know how to react to all this," Louis admits with an awkward sort of laugh. "I'm not used to this kind of -" he waves his hands vaguely. "- praise, I guess. Attention? I mean, when it's the band I get it because you lads are there too and the music and all but - this is just me, you know?"

"It's not 'just' anything," Harry argues, pushing Louis' messy fringe off his forehead with gentle fingers. "What you did today...god, Lou. You have no idea how amazing you really are. The money you raised for those kids, the awareness, what you did for your team? You did it all just because you wanted to help, not because you wanted the attention or the praise for it. It's incredible."

"Anybody could -"

"They really couldn't. Just accept the compliment, would you?"

Louis laughs. "Alright, alright. I'm amazing, whatever."

"Not whatever," Harry insists stubbornly. It's one of his great frustrations in life that Louis doesn't get it, will never see himself the way others do. "You are amazing, and kind, and you have a huge heart and you love taking care of people and you work so hard to make people happy and you genuinely love it when you can do something for somebody else and -"

"Stop it," Louis says, but he's still smiling, his face softened into the achingly fond look he reserves just for Harry.

Harry pauses for breath and leans down to press their foreheads together. "I just really fucking love you," he says.

Louis wraps his arms around Harry's neck and kisses him warmly. "I really fucking love you too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is informed that 'Haylor' is definitely going ahead. The boys travel to Europe for promo and Louis goes clubbing on Halloween.

They're back in the studio for meetings and rehearsals within days of the match. Harry and Louis are busy at home, too, having decided to repaint their kitchen. It's another step toward making the new house really feel like a home, like something that's really theirs. Although the flat will always have a special place in Harry's heart, it never felt purely _theirs_ , since Simon was the one who bought it for them. They've been trying to put their own special touch on the new house for months now - a knick-knack here or there, new carpets, that kind of thing. Louis had suggested a few weeks back that they make changes to the kitchen and dining room, because he found the white walls too plain. So, they've decided on a rich, deep red as a sort of feature wall.

There's something reassuringly normal about the whole thing; stripping down to sweats and old shirts and getting themselves messy with it. Their first day goes smoothly, singing along to the stereo as they work and flicking each other with paint when they get bored. They get the first coat done and then finish for the day, eating takeaway at their kitchen bench with everything still smelling like fresh paint.

 

The second day is slightly more trying.

They have meetings in the morning, and their PR people, Paula and Anthony, request to see Harry and Louis alone. Harry is more resigned than surprised to hear that they're going ahead with the Taylor plan. He's felt it coming for months, has been well aware of the little hints their team has been dropping in the media about it. It's not going to be easy, or fun, but it's something Harry has come to accept is happening. He's been easing himself into the thought for a long time, so the news isn't exactly a blow to him.

Still. It hurts to have his life controlled for him so smoothly.

Harry's jaw is clenched painfully as Paula hands him a schedule and a contract. "Taylor's already signed. It's pretty standard, three months. We'll get the word moving in November and you'll make your first appearance just before Madison Square Garden, really capitalise on it for that concert. You'll meet each others' families, spend some time together in the UK too. We're definitely going for a New Year's Eve kiss, she's performing in NYC so don't make plans for that week. Then it'll all fall apart in February, just in time for Valentines' Day and the tour. Lovely, isn't it?"

"Right," Harry says faintly, eyes skimming the schedule. She has to meet his _family_? His mum is going to be furious. The news about New Year is especially upsetting and he risks a glance at Louis to gauge his reaction.

Louis' hands are balled into angry little fists, his jaw clenched and eyes ice-cold. "You're honestly going to keep us apart for New Year's? What about Christmas? What about my birthday?"

Paula meets his gaze unflinchingly. "New Year's is non-negotiable. You will be with Eleanor that night anyway. Taylor will be with her family for Christmas, and I suggest you do the same. _If_ you spend your birthday together it will be absolutely locked down. You know how to do that by now."

"Oh yes, I know all about it," Louis snaps acidly. "I'm very practiced in erasing my relationship from the world."

"Lou," Harry says softly. He reaches for Louis' hand and holds it, rubbing his thumb over tense knuckles. Louis relaxes, but only marginally.

Louis turns on him. "Why are you being so quiet about this?"

Harry shrugs. "What do you want me to say? It's going to happen no matter what."

Paula is nodding. Anthony hands Harry a pen, and he signs. Louis watches with pain in his eyes and then laughs, bitterly. He covers his mouth with his hand. "It's amazing how much of your life you can just sign away, isn't it?"

"Lou," Harry says again, reaching for him.

"No, Harry." Louis gets up from his chair, sends one more glare in Paula's general direction, and leaves the room.

 

Harry is handed over more paperwork, schedules and a list of things he's expected to know about the relationship. He doesn't know quite what he's feeling about the whole thing. There's a weak sort of sickness in his gut at the thought of putting his hands on anyone except Louis, ever. It's even worse to think that he'll have to declare it publicly. At least with the womaniser rumours, they're just that - rumours. He can let news spread of an apparent date with some model or actress, while he’s really at home playing FIFA and eating spaghetti with Louis. With this he's actually going to have to go out with Taylor, hold her hand and, apparently, snog her on New Year's Eve.

Dirty. That's the word Harry was looking for. Dirty. It makes his skin crawl, the lies and the acting. He's only met Taylor a couple of times, the most recent at dinner with Ed after the VMAs. She and Ed have some kind of weird bond and he trusts Ed's judgement, so he'd gone along. It had been...strange. Taylor was funny in a lot of ways, and obviously smart and talented. But there was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way, and he hasn't been keen to see her again since. Now he's going to have to pretend to be in love with the girl. How the hell is he going to do that? Harry's a terrible actor.

He supposes the easiest way would be to treat her the way he treats Louis. But that idea makes Harry feel even more sick than before. That's _sacred_ , between the two of them. It's not meant for outsiders and it's certainly not meant for Taylor. He'll have to find another way.

 

By the time Harry has left his meeting, the journalists have arrived for all the international promo work they have to do today. There's still time as cameras are set up, and the boys are having breakfast, sprawled on couches in the corner of the studio. Harry can feel the tension in the air as he approaches, and he notices how the other boys are all turned to face Louis as he talks. His face is still twisted angrily and Zayn keeps rubbing his shoulder, talking to him in a low voice.

Liam watches with big, sad eyes as Harry sits down beside them with a sandwich in his hands. He really doesn't feel like eating but someone will bug him about it if he doesn't, and they've got hours of interviews ahead of them.

"This is awful," Liam says. Harry just nods.

"Harry, are you sure you're going to be alright? I mean - three months is a long time." Niall adds gently.

Harry shrugs. "Louis' put up with it for nearly a year," he points out. "The least I can do is three months."

Louis' head snaps up. "Harry, no," he says, looking pained. "That's not how this works, don't say things like that. Me and El are...whatever, we're used to it now. It's not such a big deal anymore. You've dealt with your side of it too, this isn't _scored_."

"And this is probably going to be worse than Lou and El," Zayn adds. "Is it true they're making you spend New Year's with her? Haz, that's gonna be the worst. You should be with us."

Harry notices that as they talk, he's been shifting closer toward them all on the couch. Liam's hand is on his knee, Niall's on his shoulder, and Zayn a barely-there touch on his ankle. There's something about their protective bubble that calms him, and he can tell that Louis, still at the centre of the huddle, feels the same comfort.

"There's nothing I can do about it," Harry says, his voice embarrassingly thick. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

They all give him pitying looks and Louis still looks pretty awful, although he seems to have moved past rage and into mere annoyance. Harry wants to reach over and reassure him somehow, just hold his hand for a moment to anchor them both back to earth. But there's cameras in the room. He knows all too well that the touch would be on Tumblr within moments if they were caught. He sighs and runs a hand through his curls instead, resigning himself to a difficult day ahead.

The morning is strange. Louis isn't mad at Harry - he still spares him a couple of sweet, fond looks that make Harry smile despite himself. However, there is definitely something off about Louis' mood. He's distracted, often blanking out entirely during questions and then being oddly snappy in his answers. Liam tries to work around it by joking with Louis, touching him too much to bring his attention back. It works, but only just. By the time they're released for the day, Harry is both worried and tense. He and Louis don't really talk as they leave the studio and climb into separate cars for the drive home.

 

 

They had planned to finish the kitchen this afternoon, but it seems a strange thing to do after the events of the morning. Knowing Louis, he's more likely to sulk his way to a nap or lock himself in the bedroom to call his mother.

So Harry is surprised to find Louis in the kitchen, already in his sweats and prying the lid off the can of paint.

"Oh," Harry says, and Louis looks up at him, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "We're still - right."

Louis shrugs. "I'm sick of the paint smell and not being able to use the kitchen."

Harry nods. "Right. I'll just get changed."

When he returns, Louis has already started on the far side of the room, using a roller-brush to apply large swathes of the deep red paint to the wall before him. He's set the Ipod to his own personal playlist, the one he knows Harry hates because it's full of the most obnoxiously mainstream pop songs he could find. Music is one of the few things they bicker about, and changing the playlist from the one of shared songs feels like an act of war. Harry doesn't say anything about it.

"Are we not going to talk about it, then?" Harry asks, picking up his own brush and starting on the other side of the room.

"What's the point?" Louis asks, not turning away from his work. "You've signed it now, haven't you? Locked in. The way we always are."

"Right," Harry says, tamping down a wave of frustration. He's not mad at Louis, he reminds himself. Louis' not mad at him, either; he's just terrible at processing his emotions and being a twat about it is his way of dealing. "So are you going to be like this for the next three months then?"

Louis huffs out an angry breath. "So sorry I'm bothering you."

"I'm a bit more bothered about having to spend the next three months pretending to be in love with a girl I don't know, to be honest. Fuck, Louis, they're making me bring her _home_."

Louis turns this time, his eyes flashing. "Don't you dare bring her into this house," he snaps. "This is _ours_."

"I know that!" Harry replies. "I meant home to Mum, god. You know if you have your New Year's party here El will have to come?"

Louis' face falls. "Fuck," he sighs, looking away. "Yeah, she will, won't she. Shit. I'm sorry, Haz."

"Yeah, me too."

 

They fall into a tense silence as they continue painting. Harry's mind whirls sickeningly as he tries to imagine what the next few months will hold for them. He's very upset about the prospect of missing Louis' birthday. Defiantly, he decides right there and then that he'll have to organise something private, just for them. New Year's is going to be awful, and who knows how the fans will respond to the whole charade? He can already imagine the insanity he's going to cause the day he's seen with Taylor for the first time. It's not going to be pretty.

One thing Harry is sure of is that arguing with Louis about it is only going to make the entire situation about a hundred times worse. They've discovered, countless times now, that sticking together through all this crap is the only way to deal. If they turn on each other the whole thing just falls apart around them. Harry can't bear the thought of getting through the next few months without Louis strong and supportive by his side.

With all that in mind, Harry decides that it's high time Louis let go of his bad mood.

 

They've both worked their way inward from opposite sides of the room, so now they're painting only a couple of feet apart. Harry turns and, with great finesse, flicks a huge glob of paint directly at Louis.

It splatters on Louis' side, leaving a bright red patch on his grey shirt. Louis gasps and freezes. Then, he turns his best Look on Harry, the one that makes lesser men turn to stone. "Are you a child?"

Luckily, Harry has been immune to the Look for years. He grins in the face of Louis' ice-blue stare and flicks him again, so that another splash of paint appears on Louis' front. Louis continues to glare, not giving an inch. Harry does it again, eyebrows raised in an invitation to play. Louis isn't having it. He snaps, finally, throwing down his paintbrush and crossing his arms over his chest. "This isn't helping anything, you idiot!"

Frustrated, Harry glares right back. "Neither is sulking about it! Fuck, Louis. Look around you, what do you think we're doing here? We're building a _home_ together, a future! And we're going to have a really shit few months ahead of us but it's not going to matter, not in the end. It never does! So could you please just get the hell over yourself and help me make our house look good?"

Louis deflates slightly. "Oh."

Harry is breathing hard. "Yeah."

They stare at each other for a moment. Louis shakes his head, seemingly at himself. "Sorry," he says finally. "I just - I guess I was telling myself she'd changed her mind or something, that it wouldn't end up happening. And I mean - Taylor fucking Swift, Haz. You don't even really _like_ the girl."

Harry shrugs. "I don’t hate her. Maybe we’ll grow on each other.”

Louis' mouth quirks into a tiny, reluctant smile. "Always the optimist."

"That's me," Harry agrees. "Now come here; you've got paint on your cheek."

Louis steps toward him, just in time for Harry to swing his paintbrush back up and leave a smear of red on his neck. Louis sputters hilariously, his eyes narrowing. "You really are a child."

"Oh shut up, Peter Pan," Harry grins and bends down to the tin of paint, dipping his finger in it. He straightens up and holds the finger out toward Louis, dripping red. Louis shakes his head, backing away as Harry advances on him. "Come on, play with me," Harry coaxes. He dives, managing to get a smear of paint on Louis' cheekbone. Louis is finally starting to smile.

"You're asking for it, Styles," Louis warns. He bends slowly toward his own paint, picking up the brush and dipping in while Harry watches on cautiously.

"Go on then," Harry says, and arms himself with his own brush.

Louis attacks, flicking the brush energetically so paint comes flying in Harry's direction. He makes a noise that's probably more of a squeak than a manly yell, turning his head so the paint splatters in his hair.

 

After that, it's war. The paint flies as they flick each other with the brushes, giggling like school boys. When Louis gets bored of using the brush as a weapon, he manages to tackle Harry to the ground. The paint can is right by Harry's head and Louis gets both hands in there. They come up covered in red; he smears it over Harry's shirt while Harry squirms beneath him. Louis is bright and shining, hair messy with red patches on his face and all over his clothes. Harry's breathless with laughter as he flips them over, sticks his hands in the paint and shoves them up under Louis' shirt.

"No!" Louis shrieks, arching his back as he tries to get away, but he can't stop laughing either. He tries to tickle Harry in revenge, his fingers leaving red lines on Harry's stomach as Harry squirms away from him. They roll on the floor, nearly crying with laughter as they cover each other in as much paint as possible.

Their shirts come off, somewhere in the fray, and then there's paint smeared in sticky, half-dry patches on Harry's chest, stomach, shoulders, and arms. Their raucous laughter calms to quieter giggles and Harry's face hurts from smiling. He's got Louis on his back, leaning over him as he draws an enormous red heart on Louis' belly with his fingers. Louis makes a face. "Subtle," he comments, but smiles when Harry writes "HARRY" on his chest. He tilts his head at a comical angle, trying to look at the word properly. "You know, I don't mind that," he comments lightly.

Harry beams. "Do me, do me," he demands, stretching out on his back beside Louis.

Louis snorts. "If you insist."

The "LOUIS" he draws is in big, messy block letters, stretching all the way across Harry's pelvis, hip to hip. Louis looks at it thoughtfully when he's done. "I like this one too," he says, softer than before.

They're quiet. Harry reaches down to cup Louis' jaw, accidentally smearing even more of the paint. "Lou," he breathes.

Louis gives him a sad little smile. “Guess I have to mark you up more secretly, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry admits. “Still there, though. At least we know about it?”

Louis nods, his tongue between his teeth like he’s thinking. Then all of a sudden he’s tugging at Harry’s sweats, pulling them off in one quick movement. Harry gasps as the air hits his bare skin, frowning in confusion. Louis is oddly frantic as he pushes Harry’s thighs apart then goes still, letting out a sigh that sounds like relief. Harry follows his gaze and realises that Louis was looking for the ‘L’ tattoo on Harry’s inner thigh, the strongest claim Louis has on him right now. The sight of it seems to make Louis feel better and he bends his head to kiss it, mouth wet and soft.

The L is so high on Harry’s leg that Louis’ cheek is practically brushing his cock and he shivers, twining his fingers in Louis’ hair. Louis mouths at the tattoo again, kissing it and running his tongue over its lines. Then his teeth sink in, sharp and deep. Harry’s cock starts to thicken as Louis sucks a deep, throbbing bruise into his thigh, hard enough that Harry hopes he'll feel it tomorrow.

Harry’s back nearly arches right off the floor when Louis bites him again, a sharp sting followed by warm licks of his tongue. He kisses his way from Harry’s thigh to the base of his cock, glancing up at Harry through his eyelashes before licking up Harry’s length.

“Oh,” Harry manages, breath choked. His blood is racing and he can’t look away from Louis’ mouth, the wicked little flicker of his tongue as he closes pink lips around the head of Harry’s cock. He sucks hard, working his mouth slowly down. Harry has half a moment to be thankful that the paint on Louis' hand has dried before it wraps around his cock, stroking him smoothly.

Harry concentrates on not bucking up to try and fuck Louis’ mouth. He curls his fingers tighter in Louis’ hair instead, tugging slightly when Louis relaxes his throat and takes him as deep as he can. Harry’s too big for Louis to go all the way but it’s _incredible_ anyway, all suction and heat. Louis moans around him when Harry pulls his hair harder, his eyelashes fluttering and his fingers curling tight around Harry’s hip.

Louis pulls off him, his hand still stroking Harry off smoothly. He licks his lips, and they’re wet and pink and swollen. Harry can’t take this. “Louis,” he moans, his hips shifting as he tries to get back to the heat of Louis’ mouth. “Please, babe.”

Louis smiles, wicked, and sinks down on him again, deep as before and sucking hard. He bobs on Harry’s cock, soft lips sliding up and down until Harry goes still and comes, his hand clenching in Louis’ hair. Louis swallows around him and pulls off, resting his forehead against Harry’s hip. Harry pets his hair absently as he comes down. Louis’ thumb is still pressing against the ‘L’ tattoo on his thigh.

When Harry has recovered enough, he turns them both over so Louis is on his back, legs falling open eagerly as Harry tugs at his pants. He finds the ‘H’ tatt on Louis’ thigh and kisses it too, leaves Louis with a matching bruise. Louis is worked up, probably from all the hair-pulling before, and Harry goes down on him enthusiastically. He slips his hands below Louis’ thighs to grab at his ass as he sucks, enjoying the weight and taste of Louis on his tongue.

Louis is loud, muttering obscenities and whimpering when Harry lets him buck up, fucking shallowly into his mouth. It makes Harry’s eyes water a little; Louis’ pretty big, after all, but Harry is used to it and he just takes it. Louis holds him still, hands tight in his curls as he fucks up against him, filling Harry’s mouth in short, sharp thrusts. When he comes, he forgets to warn Harry, who sputters a little against the sudden burst of liquid in his throat. When Harry leans back he’s panting and messy, a smear of come at the corner of his lips. Louis smiles dazedly at him and thumbs at it, pushing it back into Harry’s mouth until Harry licks it up.

Harry knows what he looks like after he gives head; his mouth swells obscenely and his pale cheeks flush a deep pink. Usually his eyes go all wide and glazed, too - or so Louis says, and Harry guesses he would know. Louis always stares at him for awhile after, petting Harry’s hair or running his thumb over Harry’s lips. Harry allows it, resting with his head pillowed on Louis’ soft belly.

 

Once he’s gathered a bit of energy, Harry makes himself shift upwards enough to capture Louis’ mouth again. They roll onto their sides, legs intertwining, kissing lazily. Louis tastes like Harry’s come; sharp, his mouth wet and very soft. Harry runs his hands over every part of Louis’ body he can reach; the dip of his waist, the soft smattering of hair on his chest, the small of his back which Harry has always thought was made to fit the broad shape of Harry’s hands. Louis’ hands move languidly over Harry’s skin too, stroking soft on his shoulders, collarbones, thumb against his neck to touch Harry’s pulse, fingertips slipping into his hair.

It’s like being drugged. Harry’s body still feels sensitised from his orgasm, his skin sparking lazily at Louis’ every touch. He feels heavy and warm, dizzied, honey-slow.

Eventually their kisses slow to nothing, leaving them breathing each other’s air, bodies still curved into one another.

“We should clean up,” Harry breathes reluctantly.

“Yeah,” Louis lifts his head and looks around, then cranes his body to reach for the can of paint nearby. “One more thing.”

Harry frowns but doesn’t protest as Louis drags the can over and dips his fingers in it again. They’re gleaming red, shiny, and Louis pushes Harry to lie on his back, leaning over him with a look of intense concentration on his face.

Louis’ index finger makes contact with the skin just above Harry’s heart, and Harry gasps slightly at the cold as he watches Louis write _I love you_ in small, careful letters across Harry’s chest. Louis smiles faintly when he finishes, and blows gently at the skin to help it dry. Harry shivers, his eyes locking with Louis’. He’s suddenly finding it very hard to breathe.

Louis dips his head and kisses his chest just underneath the writing, his lips pressing to Harry’s skin for so long that Harry wonders if he can feel the thudding heartbeat beneath.

“Lou,” he whispers helplessly. He’s having one of those moments where he just loves Louis so much it _hurts_ , makes him feel like he’s expanding at the seams just to contain it.

“Shh, I know,” Louis murmurs, kissing his chest again and looking up at Harry through his lashes, his eyes warm. “I know.”

 

[](http://s24.photobucket.com/user/Dot1234/media/2_zps82408d69.jpg.html)

 

When they finally get up, they realise what a huge mess they’ve made. There’s paint _everywhere_ , thankfully most of it on the wall or drop-cloth. It’s also all over their bodies, drying in dark, itchy red flakes which Harry scratches at absently as he surveys the room. “Not the best paint-job ever,” he remarks dryly. The extra dollops of paint have dried unevenly on the red wall, giving it an odd sort of raised texture.

Louis runs his fingers over a spot on the wall, a small smile on his face. “I like it. Gives it character, you know? Very DIY.”

“Home-made,” Harry quips, and Louis barks a laugh, nodding.

“Right. Come on then, Picasso. Let’s have a shower and make some dinner.”

 

Harry has a fresh tattoo by the next day - ‘home-made’ in wobbly script on his left arm. It’s one of his stupid impulsive ones but he’s fond of it, even though he knows he’ll probably cover it with something better eventually. Yesterday started out so badly, with the Taylor argument and Louis’ bad mood, but playing in the paint with Louis is the most fun Harry’s had in ages. He loves this idea that they’re building a home together, making something just for themselves.

 

He hovers for a couple of days on whether or not to do something about the _I love you_ Louis wrote on his chest. It had washed off that evening, of course, along with all the other splatters of red on their skin and in their hair. Harry had been sad to see it go, watching the red swirl down the drain with something like regret.

Harry would like to get that tattooed on him, too. He’d like to have Louis’ love spelled out over his heart, obvious, to carry with him every day the way he carries Louis’ other tattoos.

There’s a slight snag to that idea, though - that particular patch of skin is reserved, and has been for weeks.

Harry has known for a while now that he wanted a larger tattoo; something bold and intricate, something beautiful. He’d found the base design for his tattoo in one of the display books at the parlour in Los Angeles, back when he went to get Gemma’s name on his arm. He’d been flipping through it idly, and there was something about the twin sparrows caught in flight which had held his gaze.

“Do they mean anything, the birds?” he’d asked the artist, Freddy. Freddy had glanced at the book.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sparrows means soulmates. Always coming back to the same person, you know. They mate for life.”

_Soulmates_.

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it for days. The image of the birds kept coming back to him at the strangest moments, like they were trying to tell him something he didn’t understand yet.

He was in LA again with Ed on the first day of October when he figured it out. They went to the parlour together, Ed drawing a tiny key on Harry’s left wrist.

The entire visit to the tattoo parlour, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about the book with the birds in it. He almost felt like it was calling to him. So he finally gave in, flipping through it and finding the page almost immediately. Looking at the birds, Harry knew. This was meant to be his tattoo. Two sparrows caught in flight, their eyes fixed on one another because they’d always come home, no matter where the wind took them. Those birds were Harry and Louis, and Harry wanted them drawn on his skin with an intensity that almost scared him.

So he’s been planning. For weeks, he’s been planning this tattoo. It’s not some random doodle, something to scribble on his skin on a whim when he has time to kill. This is delicate, intricate, detailed. They’re using the original design as a base but Harry has been making deliberate changes all along. Freddy emails every few days with new sketches and Harry peruses them for hours, picking out what he likes and what he doesn’t.

Every line, every feather, has to be perfect. Some of the adjustments were simple - he wanted the tails longer, the wings wider. He wanted it perfectly aligned so the birds’ eyes were facing each other directly. Then Harry decided that if they were representing himself and Louis, it should reflect in the design. So the ‘Harry’ bird grew while the ‘Louis’ bird shrank, just barely but enough to show the difference. Then Harry wanted the faces to be more expressive, and the eyebrows changed, gave the birds more character. Louis' had his say too, leaning over Harry's shoulder as he sat at the computer and pointing out how he wanted 'his' bird to look.

“Does mine _have_ to be smaller?” Louis had pouted, draping himself over Harry’s back and looping his arms around his neck.

“Yes,” Harry insisted. He reached up to wrap his hand around Louis’ wrist, holding him close. “They’re supposed to be for us. And you are smaller than me.”

Louis made a little huffing noise against his curls, but Harry knew that he secretly loved their size difference. He liked to cuddle into Harry’s chest, let Harry wrap him up tight and warm. He loved Harry’s strength and the feeling of being manhandled, even though it took some coaxing to get him to admit it.

Harry leaned back far enough to kiss Louis’ neck softly. “I just want them to be perfect."

 

Now, only a week away from finally being inked, Harry is almost certain that his birds are ready. He’s checked and triple checked every sketch, and he can’t pick out anything wrong with them.

Except. Except for how much he wants Louis’ love written on his chest as well.

The idea comes to him late at night, as he’s lying awake, turning things over in his head. If he got the ' _I love you'_ , he’d be forced to cover it up anyway, wouldn’t he? The birds he can maybe explain away, give an inane, meaningless reason for them instead of divulging what they really are. Something as bold as _‘I love you’_ invites more questions than their team would be willing to take.

Harry sighs in frustration, jostling Louis slightly where he’s curled against his chest. Louis is sound asleep, face soft, hand resting loosely on Harry’s stomach. Harry passes his hand over Louis’ back, feeling the rise and fall of his deep breaths. It steadies him, his brain working more rationally as he considers his dilemma once again. The love would have to be covered, Harry thinks, and that phrase sticks with him.

The love would have to be covered.

_Their_ love would have to be covered, like it has been all along.

Covered, but not gone.

Hidden, but still very much present. Still permanent.

Harry covers his mouth with his hand, grinning madly into the darkness. It’s perfect.

 

Freddy is not exactly thrilled to be told that Harry plans on making his life even more difficult.

However, he also seems to relish the challenge that Harry has presented to him.

“I think ‘I love you’ is too long,” he muses over Skype the following morning. “But we could definitely do ‘love’, is that alright?”

Harry thinks this over for a moment and then nods. “Yeah, I think so. How are we going to fit it in?”

“Hang on, I’m looking for something,” Freddy says, eyes narrowed in concentration as he clicks away at his own computer. “Aha! Okay, I’m sending you a couple of images. I think if we give it some kind of border, we can use that later for part of the birds?”

“…right,” Harry says slowly, unable to visualise it completely.

“Yeah, if we put it at a slight angle - although it might be too straight if the bird’s body is curved…” Freddy mutters to himself for a moment. “Look, let me play around with this for a bit and I’ll get back to you tomorrow, okay? But look at those borders for me.”

The next day, Freddy (who Harry has decided is an artistic genius) has found the solution. He sends Harry first a banner with ‘Love’ on it, tilted at a slight angle, and then the familiar picture of the ‘Harry’ bird, which he’s fiddled with to make it slightly transparent. “Okay, check it out,” he says excitedly. “Lay them over each other.”

Harry drags his cursor, pulling the bird over the banner, and gasps. “They fit,” he says, amazed. The borders of the banner match perfectly to the shape of the bird, covering the ‘love’ and leaving no trace of it behind.

“You’re welcome,” Freddy says smugly, and Harry couldn’t be happier.

 

Harry has the ‘love’ banner done in the final days of October, just long enough to show it off in the Scott Mills livestream. It feels right, although Harry knows how fleeting this is before it’s covered again.

That’s alright; Harry knows it’s there. He doesn’t need to see Louis’ love to feel it.

 

 

It’s Halloween, they’re in Italy, and Louis wants to _dance_. He expresses this, loudly and repeatedly, in the corridors as they leave an Italian television station. He mentions it again in the van on the way back to the hotel.

By the time they’re in the lobby, Louis has wrangled both Zayn and Liam into his scheme, and has sweet-talked Paul into watching them for the evening.

Harry is a little more reluctant. He’s tired, more than he usually would be from the short flight. Something about the rich Italian food hasn’t settled well with him either, and he knows how early they need to be awake tomorrow. Clubbing just isn’t appealing to him right now.

(Besides, they all learned a long time ago that Harry+Louis+Alcohol = a lack of inhibitions and an abundance of public cuddling, something they need to be careful about these days.)

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Louis asks when they get back to their own room. “Liam’s found this place that’s doing a theme night, we’re gonna paint our faces! It’ll be great.”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah, I’m really not in the mood. Niall’s staying in too, we’ll just hang out.”

Louis shrugs. “Alright, babe. You better help me pick out my costume though.”

 

Louis, Liam and Zayn end up in KISS make-up, hair and all. Lou does a brilliant job of it, covering their faces in the thick black and white paint and spraying Louis’ hair black. Louis and Zayn goof off as they wait for Liam to finish. They run around the room and shove their faces at anyone they find, sticking their tongues out and yelling.

“Idiot,” Harry says fondly as Louis does this for the fifth time. “How are you the oldest member of this group, honestly.”

Louis sticks his tongue out again, wagging it madly and crossing his eyes. “Shut up, I’m magnificent.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Car’s ready, boys.” Paul stands in the doorway with a look on his face like he knows he has a long night ahead. To be fair, any evening orchestrated by Louis is reason for concern.

Zayn and Louis pause long enough to take pictures of themselves on their phones before they begin to say their goodbyes.

“Have fun with Nialler,” Louis says, reaching to squeeze Harry’s hand briefly. He winks. “And don’t wait up.”

Harry steps closer to him, sliding a possessive hand over Louis’ hip. “What, you gonna cop off with some sleazy Italian guy?”

Louis smiles coyly up at him. “Can’t help my natural charm, Haz,” he sways into Harry’s space, settling his hand on Harry’s waist. “All the boys want me.”

They’re playing, Harry knows that, knows that Louis wouldn’t look twice at another guy. He can’t help the small flash of jealousy anyway.

“Too bad I’m the only one who’s got you,” he replies, his voice husky. He squeezes Louis’ hip and Louis draws a sharp intake of breath before he grins, teeth gleaming white against the black of the facepaint.

“Too bad,” he repeats, breathy. “For them, I mean. Not so much for me.”

Paul makes an impatient noise from the door. “Louis, let’s move.”

Louis makes to lean in for a kiss but Harry pulls away at the last moment. “You’ll get makeup all over me.”

“Oh,” Louis says sheepishly. He steps back, hand falling away from Harry’s waist. He presses two fingertips to his mouth and then touches them to Harry’s, a phantom kiss that makes Harry smile. “Goodnight, love.”

 

Harry has an enjoyable and very relaxing evening; sprawled all over the sofa in Niall’s hotel room while they play video games and talk.

He goes to bed fairly early, tossing and turning a bit before he starts to really feel sleepy. Between he and Louis, Harry is the one who manages to sleep better when they’re apart, but it still feels strange to not feel Louis’ presence. He drops off eventually, face smushed into his pillow.

 

 

Somebody is banging on the door.

Harry swims up from unconsciousness, dazed and bleary. His internal clock thinks he’s only been asleep for a few hours, he couldn’t possibly be late for interviews -

Sitting up, Harry finds the clock beside the bed and reads 5:07am. The banging continues, and he pulls himself out of bed, head still fuzzy as he stumbles to the door.

When it opens, Harry’s gaze settles on the daunting figure of a highly unimpressed Paul. He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised.

There are a pair of arms wrapped around his neck, and there is a very drunk Louis Tomlinson clinging to his back.

“Eurgh,” Harry says.

“Good morning, Harry,” Paul reaches behind himself and begins to try and dislodge Louis. “I believe this is yours?”

“I suppose so,” Harry responds wearily, covering a yawn with his hand.

Louis finally catches sight of him over Paul’s shoulder, letting out an excited shriek. “Harry! It’s Harry, Paul, I love Harry, let me down,” he clambers off Paul and launches himself at Harry instead, stumbling tipsily against him. Harry steadies him with an arm around Louis’ shoulders and nods at Paul. “Thanks, mate. See you tomorrow.”

Paul gives a weary salute and trudges off down the hallway. Honestly, the man probably deserves a medal.

Drunk Louis is kind of like a child on a sugar high, only sluttier. (Which is a comparison Harry is uncomfortable making, but it’s 5am and his brain isn’t coming up with anything better.) Louis is loud, babbly and very, very handsy, pawing at Harry’s bare chest as Harry tries to lead them to the bathroom. “Harry I had so much _fun_ , we drank that pink cocktail thing with the lime and the umbrella, you know? And you were right, there were sleazy Italian guys there but I didn’t cop off with anyone, I swear, I mean one of them probably grabbed my bum but can you blame him, haha right? Liam snogged this red-haired girl and Zayn danced with a bloke just for a laugh and the music was _great_ and did you know you can smoke in Italian clubs? My eyes are stinging. Harry let’s dance!”

“Let’s not,” Harry says patiently, finally getting them into the bathroom and shutting the door in case Louis makes a run for it. “We’re going to get this makeup off and go to bed because we have press in three hours.”

Louis pouts at him. “But I’m sad because I danced with lots of fit blokes tonight and none of them were as fit as you,” he runs his hand up Harry’s chest, tracing fingertips over his collarbones. “You’re so lovely, Harry. My lovely boy.”

Harry can’t help it; he smiles, capturing Louis’ hand and pressing a kiss to his fingertips. “I’ll dance with you another time, Lou. Come on, I’m tired.”

Louis frowns at him and Harry seizes the moment, lifting Louis by the hips and placing him gently on the bathroom counter. “Stay,” he commands sternly, digging in the drawers for anything that might take the makeup off.

Their hotel room didn’t come equipped with proper makeup remover or anything, but a hand towel soaked in warm water seems to do the job just fine. Harry holds Louis’ face still with one hand cupped gently over his cheek, swiping at the black and white paint with the other. Louis allows it, blue eyes hazy as they follow Harry’s movements. He starts to babble again, voice bright as he describes the drinks they had and the people they danced with.

Harry half listens to the chatter, responding with murmurs of “Yes, Louis. No, Louis. Shhh, baby. I know. Stay still for me,” every now and then. Several times, he has to reach and stop Louis’ hands from sneaking into his underwear. He really is a cuddly drunk.

It takes time to get rid of the thick layer of makeup, the hand towel staining a dirty grey as Harry works. The makeup is greasy on his fingers as it comes away from Louis’ skin. Louis quietens, making the gradual transition from hyper-bubbly-drunk to snuggly-sleepy drunk. Harry has to admit that, like this, Louis is absolutely adorable. He’s soft and pliant, his movements slowed, hands still touching at Harry’s bare chest and stomach as Harry cleans him up. Louis’ eyelids start to droop, mouth going slack and he slumps forward like his head is too heavy for his neck.

“Nearly finished,” Harry hums, rubbing at a stubborn spot of black on Louis’ temple. He’s exhausted too, his eyes stinging with the need to go back to bed.

There’s still a patch of white on Louis’ cheek and under his jawline, but Louis is nearly asleep against him. Harry sighs, balling up the filthy towel and leaving it in the sink. “That’ll do,” he says. Louis makes a muffled cheering noise, snaking his arms around his waist. He buries his face in Harry’s chest, smudges his cheek against the skin. “Always take care o’me,” Louis is muttering, slurred and thick. “Take such good care o’me, love you so much.”

He’s reached the stage where he’s full of feelings, which is a good sign as far as Harry is concerned because it means he’s about ten minutes away from passing out. Louis is still muttering drunkenly about how much he loves him. Harry smiles fondly and pets his hair, because Louis is just like a big drunk teddy bear.

Panda bear, Harry thinks, and snorts to himself.

“Wazzat,” Louis asks muzzily. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” Harry says, lifting Louis off the bench and tugging Louis’ shirt up over his head. “I was thinking that you’re a big drunk teddy, but with the black and white you’re really more of a big drunk panda.”

Louis frowns. “M’not a panda,” he protests half-heartedly. He allows Harry to unzip his jeans, wobbling out of them with one hand on Harry’s shoulder for balance. “Are we going to bed?”

“In a minute,” Harry says, stripping out of his boxers. “First we have to wash this crap out of your hair.”

He flips the shower to lukewarm, stepping inside and tugging Louis gently in after him. Harry guides him under the spray, thankful that the black colour is already washing out as the water hits Louis’ hair. Louis is pliant as Harry massages in shampoo for good measure, the black gunk completely gone by the time he’s done.

Once they step out of the shower it seems that Louis has sobered up a bit and he towels himself off, rubbing his hair until it goes fluffy. Harry fills a huge glass of water and makes him drink it, and it’s finally, finally time for bed.

It’s nearly 6am.

Harry draws back the comforter and Louis crawls in, flopping onto his back and pulling Harry down on top of him.

“Take such good care of me,” Louis is saying again, words still thick and unsteady on his tongue. “My lovely boy, my lovely Harry.”

“Shh, Lou.” Harry settles them, pulling the blanket over them and throwing his arm over Louis’ stomach. He’s too big for this position, but it’s not so bad if he folds himself up smaller and tucks his head against Louis’ shoulder.

“Love you so much,” Louis continues, voice warm and sleepy. “Gonna marry you, you know.”

Harry freezes.

Louis doesn’t seem to notice. He runs his fingers over Harry’s shoulders, rubs his cheek against Harry’s hair.

It’s not that they haven’t talked about it. They have, but it’s been in circles, tentative like if they say it out loud it could float away. It’s expected, they both know that, a future they’ve been planning for a long time.

Neither of them have ever said it out loud, so bare and so final. It sends a thrill down Harry’s spine, sets his heart thudding. He swallows, forcing his voice light.

“Is that the big proposal then?”

Harry feels Louis shake his head vehemently. “ _No_ , the proposal has to be beautiful, Harry. There should be tears. So many tears. It should be so beautiful that everyone cries.”

Harry has to turn his face into Louis’ neck, his smile so wide it hurts, eyes stinging as he’s overwhelmed with a feeling he can’t put a name to.

“Lots of crying, gotcha,” he manages.

Louis’ hand finds his and he folds their fingers together against his chest, thumb stroking against Harry’s knuckles. The touch is assured, and Harry thinks it might mean that Louis knows exactly what he’s saying, alcohol or not.

“Weeping, Harry,” Louis insists. “ _Weeping_."

He’s asleep minutes later. Harry takes a few moments to process what just happened, heart bursting, before he drifts off to sleep.

 

In the morning, they stumble out of bed late, rush through getting dressed and into the hotel lobby in time for photo ops. Louis and Zayn are both still in leftover make-up, smudged in dark lines around their eyes. Louis is sleepy and hungover, his skin pale, body swimming in a large grey sweatshirt over his jeans.

He looks incredible.

It's actually frustrating, that he can be so attractive when he should look half-dead. His cheekbones look sharper than ever, eyes deep blue and hypnotising with the outline of old eyeliner. Harry can't stop staring, even when he's fully aware he's supposed to be looking into a camera lens right now.

 

They're sitting down to the hotel's buffet breakfast when Niall looks up from his plate, frowns, and asks, "Harry, is that a huge patch of white paint in your hair?"

"What?" Harry says, and Louis whips around to look.

"Oh shit, Harry," he laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. "You do have white in your hair."

"Oh my god," Harry reaches up to feel it. His hair has dried stiff in places from the paint, other patches greasy.

"How did you..." Niall starts, then shakes his head. "You know what, I don't want to know."

Liam shoots Louis an accusatory look. "What did you do to him?"

"It's not my fault!" Louis says defensively, as Harry continues to run his fingers curiously through his hair.

"Technically it is," Harry replies. "You were the one with the white all over you, I didn't do this to myself."

"Yes," Louis agrees impatiently, and grabs Harry's hand to stop him from tugging on his hair again. He pulls both their hands under the table, interlacing their fingers against his knee. "But I didn't do it on purpose, did I?"

"I still want to know _how_ it got in your hair," Zayn adds curiously from the other side of the table. "Is this another one of your weird sex things?"

His voice is completely nonchalant, as though discussing what film Louis and Harry had watched the night before.

"No," Louis responds, rolling his eyes. "I was drunk, Harry cleaned the makeup off for me, I guess he just got it on his hand, right?"

"I think it was when we were sleeping," Harry says. "You had your cheek on my head."

_You also semi-proposed to me,_ he thinks, but keeps that particular detail to himself. He hasn't had a chance to ask Louis about it yet, although he's fairly sure that Louis remembers.

"Well that's very sweet and innocent, innit?" Niall asks, and changes the subject.

 

Their handlers make Harry wash his hair before they move on to the press conference. It's in the quiet of their hotel room as Harry re-dresses from his shower that he manages to talk to Louis.

"Louis, did you..." Harry starts, stepping into his jeans. Louis, sat on the edge of the bed playing with his phone, looks up.

"Tell you I was going to marry you last night?" he asks, his voice steady.

Harry swallows and fiddles nervously with his shirt before pulling it over his head. "Yeah."

“I meant it,” Louis smiles at him and beckons Harry closer, so Harry sits down beside him. Louis finds his hand and twines their fingers together against his thigh. “I know it’s not the time yet, and it wasn’t a real proposal or anything. I just - it’s something I think about, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry finds himself smiling softly, warmth spreading from their joined hands to the rest of his body. “Me too.”

Louis hums a pleased sound and turns to kiss Harry’s shoulder, squeezing his hand. “We’ll get there, darling. Someday.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary For Chapter: The boys travel to L.A, Louis is sick, and Harry gets his bird tattoos. Louis and Eleanor have their 'anniversary.'  
> Warnings For Chapter: Hurt/comfort, barebacking, comeplay, rimming, felching. This chapter also contains a somewhat NSFW fanart.

They're in Europe for a few more days, home to London for two more, and due on a flight to the US after that. Of course, the day they're due to fly is the day Louis wakes up feeling absolutely awful.

"Oh, eurgh," is the first thing he says as he emerges from sleep. His head is pounding and he's too warm. Harry's body curved around his back is definitely too much body heat for him to handle. Louis shifts out of Harry's hold, throwing the blankets back and sighing as cool air hits his hot skin. He sinks back into the pillow and closes his eyes, willing the pain in his head to dissipate.

Tea. Tea will help - and painkillers, maybe a cold shower. Mostly Louis feels like he should go back to sleep, his headache similar to the one he gets when he's utterly exhausted, even though they went to bed early last night.

Louis forces himself out of bed and down the stairs to the freshly-painted kitchen. It's just past eight in the morning, and their flight is due to take off at eleven. Louis winces to himself as he flicks the kettle on, thinking of the flight ahead. He's not a good flier on the best of days; he can never seem to get to sleep, and something about the air pressure does terrible things to his ears. Couple all that with this exhaustion and the sudden new ache that's settled all over his body; Louis has a very uncomfortable day ahead.

"Just my fucking luck," he mutters. He pours the tea, scowling down at the mug like it had wronged him personally. He leaves Harry's mug out just in case, although he's pretty sure Harry won't be awake for a little bit. Louis swallows down a couple of painkillers and then folds into the sofa in the living room, heavy head falling onto a nearby cushion. He closes his eyes, fighting off a wave of dizziness and carefully, deliberately, puts his mug down on the coffee table before he falls asleep.

 

"Louis."

Deep voice. Slow voice, thick with sleep, tongue wrapping lovingly around Louis' name.

"Louis."

Harry voice. Lovely lovely Harry voice. Louis smiles and curls deeper into his cushion, his sore head welcoming the softness of it.

"Baby, hey, wake up."

Lovely Harry voice, a bit more forceful and accompanied by a big hand shaking Louis' shoulder. Louis scowls this time, pulling away from the touch.

"Lou!"

Louis finally opens his eyes, vision swimming for a moment before it locks on Harry's concerned face. He's kneeling in front of the couch, brows furrowed, curls still messy from sleep.

"You're sick," Harry surmises, voice resigned. "Shit."

"How on earth d'you know that?" Louis asks. He sits up with some difficulty, groaning as the movement aggravates his headache.

Harry points at the untouched cup of tea on the coffee table. "You never, ever forget to finish your tea," he says simply. He presses his palm to Louis' forehead with a frown. "You're also really warm, and you hardly ever fall back asleep once you're out of bed. Is your throat sore?”

Louis knows that as soon as one of them gets any kind of throat issue, they have to call into management right away so they can instigate quarantine policies. One band member with no voice is okay, but five is a disaster. He shakes his head. "Head's killing me, I think I could sleep for days, and I have that overall gross feeling, you know? Eurgh.”

"Babe," Harry clucks sympathetically, eyes big and worried. "What do you need, hmm? More tea? Breakfast? Did you take some painkillers yet?

"They haven't done anything," Louis replies, somewhat bitterly. He closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. "I'm not hungry, love. I just want to sleep as much as I can before we have to leave. Can you finish up that little bit of packing for me? You know what I need."

"Of course." Harry presses a kiss to his forehead and Louis curls into the couch again.

 

At the airport, Louis shuffles along to wherever he's pointed. The painkillers have helped, but he's just so _tired_ , feels faded, worn and heavy. It's bad enough that he actually does sleep on the plane, but it's an awful, uneven sleep. He keeps waking up every few hours, achey and dizzy.

Screaming girls, flashing cameras and jetlag do absolutely nothing to help Louis feel better. He nearly passes out in the car to the hotel, his face pressed to the cool window. He's so out of it that Harry ends up offering to carry him. Louis takes the elevator ride and the walk down the hallway clinging koala-like to Harry's broad back, Harry's hands gripping tight to his knees.

Paul follows behind with all their bags, setting them down on the floor inside their doorway before bidding them good night.

"C'mon, cool shower," Harry insists as he sets Louis carefully back on his feet.

"No no no, sleep," Louis argues, trying to fall back onto the bed.

"It'll make you feel better, c'mon."

Louis honestly doesn't have the energy to argue. He lets Harry drag him into the bathroom, strip him out of his clothes, and step into the shower with him. The water is only lukewarm and it's a blessing on Louis' hot skin. He sighs into the spray and feels his body start to cool slightly, settling into something more bearable. Harry is quiet behind him, hands on Louis' hips, keeping him steady.

Louis forces more pills down his throat before he can finally crawl into bed, barely getting out a bleary goodnight to Harry before he passes out.

 

Louis still feels pretty shitty when he wakes up the next day, but at least the fever is gone. They’re supposed to be in rehearsals for US X Factor throughout the day, and Louis trudges dutifully to the studio with the others.

The morning of rehearsals is difficult. Louis feels foul, still exhausted and now jetlagged to boot, with the hot stage lights doing nothing to alleviate his headache. He doesn’t want to do anything, let alone sing and bop around on a stage practicing choreography.

It makes him bitchy and he’s snapping at people left and right, biting out cold remarks. He’s being a brat and he knows it, but he’s _tired,_ miserable; he can’t help it.

By mid-morning the boys have decided to stay away from him, lest they fall victim to one of Louis’ glares. Of course, Harry stays. This is partly because Harry loves nothing more than fussing over Louis, and partly because Louis doesn’t have the heart to be mean to him. (Or at least, not as mean as he’s being to everyone else).

“Harry I’m _fine,_ ” he insists for the hundredth time this morning when Harry comes over to check on him between songs. Harry just looks at him with huge Bambi eyes and presents him with a styrofoam cup of tea.

“You need to keep your fluids up.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you mum.”

Harry reaches out and rubs his shoulder. “Are you sure you want to keep going? We can probably do a few runs without you.”

“I’m not dying, for god’s sake.” Louis shrugs off Harry’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Harry coos and clucks over him all afternoon, forcing tea down his throat and bringing him pills every few hours. Louis accepts the attention with as much patience as he can muster, but he has to admit that he feels steadily worse throughout the day.

When they pause at about 3pm for the lighting and sound guys to do their thing, Louis finally allows himself to stop. He finds a squashy old couch in their dressing room and curls up there, feeling sorry for himself. Louis’ last thought before sleep is that he wishes he’d stolen one of Harry’s hoodies; they’re always so warm and comforting wrapped around him.

When Louis wakes up, he guesses it’s only been about half an hour. He’s unsurprised to find Harry on a chair nearby, fiddling with his phone.

Louis blinks, eyelids heavy, and watches Harry for a moment. He looks warm and soft in a big jumper, curls tucked loosely under a beanie. Suddenly Louis wants nothing more than to cuddle up with him.

“Haz,” Louis says softly, and Harry looks up from his phone with a smile.

“Hi, sweetheart. How’re you feeling?”

“Awful,” Louis answers honestly.

“You want me to get you something?”

Louis shakes his head. He still feels foggy and pathetic, and he’s done with pretending that he’s fine. “Cuddle?” he asks, turning big eyes on Harry.

Harry’s mouth twitches into a small smile and he stands up, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Of course. Budge up.”

Louis shifts enough for Harry to climb onto the sofa and finds himself immediately engulfed in a warm embrace. He folds himself into Harry, tucks his hands up against Harry’s chest. He nuzzles his neck as Harry’s arms wrap around him and pull him close. Harry’s so much bigger than him now and Louis loves it more than anything in the world. It’s like Harry was made to fit him; his broad chest for Louis to curl into, his big hands to rub Louis’ back and stroke his hair, his strong arms to hold Louis warm and safe. Louis releases a happy sigh against Harry’s neck and closes his eyes. He feels surrounded by Harry, enveloped in his unique smell.

“Better?” Harry asks against his hair and Louis nods, snuggling in tighter and closing his eyes. Screw painkillers; a cuddle from his favourite boy is all Louis really needs.

 

 

Harry is due to get his sparrow tattoos that evening. He’s very excited, although he’s obviously been making an effort to keep himself in check. Louis does his best to be enthusiastic despite his sickness. He _is_ looking forward to it; the birds are almost as much his as they are Harry’s at this point, and he thinks they’re going to be gorgeous on Harry’s skin.

He wishes he could go along to watch; Harry is particularly lovely when he’s being inked. His cheeks flush and his eyes go all hooded and heavy, partly from the pain and partly from how much he enjoys it. Louis would like to be the one to hold his hand through the process, but they’ve been told that’s not allowed.

Louis still feels gross enough that going to bed early isn’t that disappointing for him. He lets Harry coddle him for another few hours and then sends Harry on his way with a kiss to the forehead. He passes his palm softly against Harry’s chest for a moment too, as though saying goodbye to the skin before it’s covered.

Louis sleeps lightly despite how tired he is. He’s woken, at what he guesses is about midnight, to the sound of the door closing and Harry’s shuffling footsteps in the dark. Louis sits up and flicks on the lamp beside the bed, blinking fuzzily at Harry.

“Hey,” Harry greets him sheepishly. “Sorry babe, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Louis waves a hand, unconcerned. “How was it?”

Harry _beams_ , flopping down onto the bed near Louis’ feet. “Amazing. They look so good, Lou. So, so good.”

Louis sits up and pushes himself to lean against the headboard. His eyes adjust to the dim light and he can see the bandages peeking out from the collar of Harry’s shirt. “I guess I can’t see yet,” he laments.

“I’m not supposed to take the bandages off for like, a day,” Harry agrees apologetically. “But I really, really want you to see.”

He’s tugging his shirt off before Louis can protest, and Louis makes a half-hearted attempt at pulling his hand away from the bandages. “Hazza, you shouldn’t.”

“Come on, a few minutes won’t hurt,” Harry says, eyes glinting with mischief. He’s such a little kid when he gets to break the rules. “If I get a horrible infection you’ll be here to nurse me back to health anyway.”

“Yeah, right,” Louis gives in with a roll of his eyes. “Go on then.”

Harry moves up the bed to sit against the headboard too, but turned toward Louis. He peels at the bandaging carefully and slowly, starting with the left side. Louis watches intently as every inch of skin is revealed. Then he takes in the design he’s become so familiar with in the past weeks of planning.

The bird is beautiful, dark on Harry’s pale skin, the design intricate and gorgeously drawn. It’s red and angry looking at the edges, obviously sensitive. Louis draws a deep breath as Harry pulls away the bandage completely, showing off the entire left bird.

“God,” Louis says, hushed. He raises his hand and his fingers hover above the tattoo, wanting to touch but knowing he can’t. “So this is yours?”

“Yeah,” Harry’s tone is rough, and he stares at Louis as he starts to uncover the right side of his chest. “This…this is yours.”

“Oh,” Louis breathes out the sound involuntarily, feels it pushed out of him when Harry reveals the other bird. Like they planned, it’s slightly different to the left side - smaller, its eyebrows more curved, its tail shorter. The two of them together, staring at each other across Harry’s chest, make a stunning sight.

“Harry,” Louis says, reverent. “They’re so beautiful.”

When he looks up to catch Harry’s eye, Harry is smiling softly at him. He looks so pleased, so proud, his eyes warm and bright. “You think? They’re my favourite so far.”

“They’re really, really gorgeous,” Louis assures him honestly. He cups Harry’s cheeks and leans in to kiss him, but he must touch Harry’s chest because he lets out a shuddery, hurt noise against Louis’ mouth and pulls away.

“Sorry, sorry!” Louis says, backing off. He laughs sheepishly. “We, uh - we’re going to have to be careful for a few days, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry moves away regretfully and picks the bandages up again. “I should really put these back on.”

“You want help?”

“Please.”

Harry remembers that he’s supposed to wash the tattoo every few hours so they end up in the bathroom together instead. Harry sits up on the countertop and lets Louis clean the skin with careful, slow swipes of a soft cloth soaked in warm water and soap. No matter how hard Louis tries the skin is still sensitive and Harry winces throughout the ordeal, his breathing laboured. Louis draws his tongue between his teeth, eyes narrowed in concentration as he washes the tattoos.

Harry hands over the aftercare cream he’s been given and Louis rubs it into his skin, fingers light over the new ink. It gives him an opportunity to take in even more details of the birds. His eyes run over the feathers, the flared tails and the lovely wings rising over Harry’s collarbones. It really is exquisite work.

They’re quiet as Louis works. Harry is concentrating on dealing with the pain, his eyes closed and his hands clenching on the edge of the benchtop every now and then. Louis is lost in thought.

Harry says the tattoos have a lot of meanings. “They’re about freedom and loyalty,” he’d said when he came home from LA babbling about birds all of a sudden. “And soulmates, Lou. They symbolise that you’re committed to one person and that’s us, isn’t it?”

Throat dry, Louis had had to agree. He’d never even believed in soulmates until he met Harry, but if such a thing exists, he’s sure that’s what they are. There’s nothing else to explain the bolt of feeling that had rushed through him the moment they met, like the universe was trying to tell him that something important was about to start. Nothing else explains the instant connection they’d felt, how easily it was that they slipped into each others’ lives like they’d known each other for years.

Nothing in Louis’ life has ever felt as natural or as easy as it was to fall in love with Harry. He’s never had words to explain the feeling that they just _fit_ with each other, seamless, slotted together like puzzle pieces. There’s a comfort and a security there which Louis has never found anywhere else, and he thinks it’s because being with Harry is Louis’ place in the world. It’s where he’s supposed to be.

The new tattoos, packed with meanings about soulmates and commitment, are such a beautiful reminder of what they are to one another. Louis thinks about how much he would like his own birds too, how he’d love to ink himself with the same symbol of trust and devotion.

But he’d like his own tattoo to be visible like Harry’s, he’d want to show it off and let it tell the world that they belonged to one another. It’s not the right time for that, yet.

One day. Louis can wait.

 

For now, he finishes cleaning Harry’s tattoos and drinks them in with his eyes one more time before regretfully covering them in the bandages. Harry’s eyes have opened and he watches quietly as Louis works.

“Thanks, bear,” Harry murmurs when Louis applies the last of the tape. Louis smiles at the new petname; an amalgamation of the old favourite ‘boo bear’ and the newer ‘panda bear’ which Harry has been using ever since Louis’ drunk escapades on Halloween.

Louis leans in to kiss him softly, this time much more careful not to touch the tattoos. “Love you.”

“You too,” Harry has to lean down almost comically far to reach his mouth, so he hops down from the counter and kisses him again, hands on Louis’ waist. Louis touches him carefully, fingertips fitting to Harry’s ribs and stroking upward to touch around the edges of the bandages. Sensitive, Harry shivers but doesn’t pull away.

They walk backwards out of the bathroom towards the bed, kissing slow and wet. The backs of Louis’ knees hit the mattress and he falls onto it as gracefully as he can manage, tugging Harry on top of him.

That’s about when things start to go wrong.

Harry lands on him but their chests knock together as they settle and Harry gasps, eyes squeezing shut. “Ow ow ow ow ow,” he rolls off Louis and onto his side, hands touching gingerly at the bandages.

“Shit,” Louis says. “Well, um,” he turns on his side too and catches Harry’s mouth again, but within two minutes he’s forgotten himself and let his hands slide down Harry’s chest.

“Jesus christ,” Harry hisses, pulling away again. “Louis!”

“I’m sorry!” Louis yelps. “Here, maybe if we -“

They try again with Louis perched on Harry’s lap, leaning down into kisses, but they quickly learn that this actually makes him dizzy. With the excitement of Harry’s new tattoos, he’d forgotten that he’s still sick and his head doesn’t take kindly to all the moving around.

“This isn’t going to happen, is it?” Louis finally admits a few minutes later.

“Unless you want it to be the most painful, awkward sex we’ve ever had, no,” Harry admits with amusement in his voice.

Louis laughs. “Well we gave it a good shot.” He gives Harry a slap on the thigh and turns to kiss him once more, hands on Harry’s face and well away from the tattoos. “It’s getting late anyway. Let’s try for non-awkward, non-painful sex in a couple of days, shall we?”

Harry hums an agreement. “Goodnight, Louis.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

 

As usual, Louis rolls onto his side and waits for Harry to hit the light. As usual, Harry’s arms slip around his waist and his legs slot to the back of Louis’. As usual, Harry’s chest fits to his back, and _not_ as usual, Harry lets out a yelp of pain and springs back.

“Okay, uh, that’s not happening,” he says, voice tight.

They actually fumble for a few minutes on how they’re going to sleep. Normally they’ll either spoon or Harry will be flat on his back with Louis’ head pillowed on his chest, neither of which they can manage tonight. Louis knows they should move to separate sides of the bed but he’s still sick and he’d like a bit of a cuddle before sleep.

They end up spooning anyway, but reversed. Louis curls around Harry’s back, pressing up against him and resting his arm over Harry’s waist, palm flat to his stomach. He’s too small for them to line up properly; his feet touch Harry’s calves and his face is pressed between Harry’s shoulder blades instead of touching the back of his neck. Still, it’s nice to have him close and Louis brushes a few warm kisses to his back as they settle.

It’s hard to believe that there was a time when Louis could spoon Harry properly. There was a time, brief as it was, that Louis was the bigger one. Back then Harry was only a baby, all pudgy cheeks and sweet fluffy curls; too pretty for his own good.

Their X-Factor days will always mean so much to Louis. It wasn’t just the start of his professional life; the band, singing, celebrity. It wasn’t just meeting the boys who would become his family. It was where he fell for Harry.

X-Factor was a mess of tentative touches and daring flirtations, constant gazing, giggles and whispers and more in-jokes than Louis can count. It was heady and overwhelming to suddenly be around someone who Louis literally couldn’t get enough of. They were both infatuated, totally caught up in each other immediately. Louis remembers that he woke up every day desperate to see the other boy, that he went to bed at night and ran over their every interaction in his head. The first few weeks of their friendship had every marking of an obsessive teenage crush, and it _was_ but at the same time Louis had had the feeling that they were building to something more permanent than that.

Smiling against Harry’s skin, Louis flashes back to the day they met.

 

_When Louis entered the bathroom, he immediately recognised the head of unruly curls on the boy at the urinals. He’d seen him in the crowd outside, some instinct leading Louis to pick out his face, to take a moment to look at him. He was young, big-eyed and earnest as he gave his interview. Later Louis had heard him sing, and he knew that the other boy was going to make it. He was good, but it was more than that; Louis knew it with an odd kind of certainty, like he knew that the sky was blue._

_“Hi,” Louis said, joining him at the urinals._

_He must have startled him, because the other boy jolted and managed to leave a tiny splash of pee on Louis’ pants._

_“Oops!” he said, looking mortified. He fumbled to zip himself up and rushed to wash his hands, wetting a paper towel and handing it to Louis. “I’m so sorry, I’m, I mean I’ve been - really nervous and I wasn’t paying attention and I’m - sorry.”_

_Louis laughed easily. “It’s okay, it won’t kill me.” He wiped at his pants quickly, flicked his fringe out of his eyes and smiled reassuringly at the other boy. “I’m Louis.”_

_“Harry,” Harry said, his face breaking into a relieved grin. He had dimples and bright green eyes. His curls were like nothing Louis had ever seen._

_They shook hands. Harry’s grip was warm and strong, and something about the touch made Louis’ breath catch in his throat. Harry must have felt it too, because his eyes widened when their hands touched and he was looking at Louis with something like awe._

_“I, uh. You shouldn’t be nervous, you know.” Louis said, shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets. “I heard you sing before, you’re really good.”_

_“Yeah?” Harry flushed, his pale cheeks pink. “Don’t know what they’d want with a geeky sixteen year old with too much hair, to be honest.”_

_“Rubbish,” Louis said lightly. He didn’t know exactly what urged him to reach out and touch a complete stranger, but he tugged gently on one of Harry’s curls, watching it bounce back into place. He laughed, and Harry was staring at him with a dopey smile on his face. “They’re quirky, innit? Makes you stand out.”_

_“I guess,” Harry shrugged, scuffing his feet on the floor before glancing at him. “What, um, what makes you stand out?”_

_Louis shrugged too, fixing his hair again. “Dunno. Just a normal lad from Doncaster, I guess. I play too much football and I goof around a lot at school…got the lead in last year’s musical though, I guess that was pretty cool.”_

_“Yeah?” Harry’s eyebrows raised in interest. “Which one?”_

_“Grease.”_

_“I love that movie!” Harry enthused, and Louis couldn’t help grinning at him._

_They talked for a few more minutes about their lives at home and what had brought them to X-Factor. It was amazing how easy it was to talk to Harry, like they had known each other much longer than a few minutes._

_Louis was starting a story about his sisters when Hannah’s voice bled through the bathroom doors. “Lou? Are you okay? You’ve been in there for ages.”_

_For some reason Louis blushed. “I’m fine, I’ll be out in a minute,” he called._

_“I should go,” he said to Harry, who smiled understandingly._

_“Nice to meet you, Louis,” he said, and held out his hand again. Louis ignored it and pulled him into a hug instead, his hands curling around the other boys’ shoulders. Harry was obviously surprised but he hugged him back tightly._

_“Listen, don’t worry about your audition, yeah? You’ll be fine, I know it,” Louis said. He pulled out of the hug and stepped back, surprised at how cold he felt when they broke contact. “Actually, you know what? Give me your autograph. And we should take a picture together!”_

_Harry looked at him for a moment and then burst into disbelieving laughter. “Why would you want that?”_

_“Because you’re going to be a star, Harry.” Louis dug in his pockets for a scrap of paper and a pen, then hovered over Harry and made sure he signed it. Harry’d obviously never done an autograph in his life so he just wrote his name, plain and simple. Louis was satisfied with that._

_“Do I get one too?” Harry said cheekily. Louis signed his own scrap of paper and, on some impulse, scrawled his mobile number beneath it too. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling that he was supposed to see Harry again. They posed together and grinned while Louis snapped a picture with his phone, saving it carefully._

_“Louis, what on earth are you doing?” Hannah said through the door, and Louis backed away from Harry reluctantly._

_“I’ll see you around, Harry,” he said, smiling brightly._

_Harry beamed back at him, his eyes shining. “Bye, Louis.”_

_Louis let the bathroom door close behind him and emerged into the hallway with his smile stuck to his face. He still had Harry’s signature clutched in his hand._

 

Half asleep and sappy, Louis emerges from his reverie and kisses Harry’s back. He runs his fingers from Harry’s waist and up over his hand, wrist, arm until he finds the spot that Harry had ‘Hi’ tattooed in Louis’ handwriting. He traces the tattoo, touch gentle.

“Oops,” Harry whispers into the dark of the room, and Louis smiles dopily. He buries his face in Harry’s back and breathes in his smell. That moment - meeting Harry, smiling at him for the first time, touching him for the first time, their first words to one another - it’s not something Louis ever wants to forget.

Maybe it’s time Louis got a new tattoo.

 

 

The following evening, Louis and Zayn go to the tattoo parlour together. Louis has a scrap of paper in his pocket. Harry had written ‘oops!’ for him in a happy daze after Louis told him what he was planning, and Louis can’t stop smiling at the thought of having Harry marked onto his skin again.

He adores the key and the H, but this new one is so much more obvious. Louis knows he’s going to get a talking-to from Paula and Anthony later, but he doesn’t care. He wants this so much, wants to remember exactly how it felt the first time Harry’s smile made his heart skip.

The ‘oops!’ comes out beautifully; a stark, obvious and perfect match to Harry’s ‘Hi.’ On a whim, Louis also asks for a flock of birds design to be inked in afterwards. He’d spotted it on the wall when he walked in and something about it called out to him. He thought about the cage tattoo on Harry’s side, the yearning they both felt to be free of their shackles. There was something hopeful about the birds in flight, a reminder that they couldn’t be locked in forever.

That night, Louis and Harry gently run through the aftercare routine for their new tatts. Harry is wide-eyed and sweet as he swipes a cloth over Louis’ ‘oops!’. Then Louis works cream into Harry’s birds and presses soft kisses into his collarbones. He almost can’t believe this is happening; so much new ink in such a short space of time. But it feels right, the designs already becoming a part of him. He knows he could never regret it.

 

 

The following week is fairly standard. They spend a lot of time in rehearsals, then perform a couple of times at X Factor, Ellen and the Today Show. The only thing that concerns Louis is the fact that Harry had managed to catch his sickness. It only takes him a couple of days to get over it, but Louis keeps an eye on him anyway.

He’s worried about Harry anyway, truth be told. Their ‘Taylor-free’ time is really starting to wind down now and Louis can feel the next few months looming darkly ahead of them. Harry is supposed to go to the X Factor set a few days from now to be seen with Taylor for the first real time and get some rumours spreading. It’s only the beginning, a small slice of what they’ll have to face in December, but Louis’ unhappy about it all the same.

Harry is putting on a brave face. They both are, really; they talk about the whole thing lightly and never think too much about it. But Louis worries. He worries about Harry, and about what their fanbase is going to do about all this, and only once he’s worried about all that can he worry about himself.

He doesn’t _know_ how he’ll react once all this gets started properly. He’ll be jealous, for sure, and he’ll be on his toes making sure that Harry is dealing with it. Beyond that…Louis doesn’t know. In the past they’ve never really had to go through this. The womaniser rumours are awful and Louis hates them, because he knows exactly who Harry is and it’s _nothing_ like the media makes him out. He wonders how they’d react if they knew that Harry has only actually slept with two people, ever.

Wonders how they’d react if they knew that Harry doesn’t plan on sleeping with anyone but Louis for the rest of his life.

This Taylor thing…Louis has a terrible feeling about it. It’s a dark thought at the back of his mind and he just knows, somehow, that it’s not going to work. Maybe she’ll be even more awful than he already suspects, or maybe Harry won’t be able to cope with the constant lying.

Maybe _Louis_ won’t be able to cope.

In any case, the next few months feels like a test of their strength as a couple. Louis is terrified, but he’s ready to fight for Harry.

 

 

Everyone but Harry gets ready to leave New York on Friday morning. Harry had been told to get to LA as soon as he could, so they could get some candid shots in of himself and Taylor. To Louis’ surprise, Harry isn’t planning on complying.

“I want to stay in New York for a day or so,” he’d said last night. “And then Gary from Snow Patrol wanted to meet up, maybe look at some music.”

“Won’t you get in trouble if you don’t show up on time?” Louis had asked.

Harry shrugged. “Technically the only thing I _have_ to do is be seen at X-Factor.” His face had darkened slightly. “I’m not doing anything beyond that.”

Louis had felt a swell of pride at Harry’s rebellious streak. He hoped it meant that Harry would be fighting this stupid ruse the whole time.

 

They said goodbye this morning, Louis in a rush because he hadn’t packed properly and the flight was earlier than he’d thought. It was a quick hug and kiss and then he was dragged out the door by Zayn, but Louis is okay with that. They’re only going to be separated a couple of days.

So Louis heads home to London. He has his own job to do - due at Manchester Uni to be seen with Eleanor the following morning.

For once, Louis doesn’t really mind. With Harry still away, coming back to their house doesn’t feel like coming home. He makes the drive to Manchester the next day, making sure to park somewhere he’ll be seen before he walks towards the dorms.

He and El spend a few hours lounging around in her dorm room, watching dvds and chatting with her friends as they flit in and out. A lot of El’s friends and classmates haven’t quite gotten over the novelty of having a celebrity around, so there’s always some curious eyes around the place. That’s okay with Louis; being seen here is exactly what he set out to do.

When he gets online that night, Louis has to admit he’s a little amused by the chaos Harry has caused. He hasn’t been seen in LA yet, and the fandom is going mental trying to figure out where he is and what he’s doing. Louis has to hand it to him - Harry can be a real ninja when he wants to be.

Time difference be damned, he sends a text to let Harry know he’s thinking of him.

_you’re such a ninja babe. driving all the fans nuts. you have a good day?_

_yeah, went shopping. bought a new shirt for you and some scarves for gem. i haven’t been online, are they sad? :(_

_lol they’ll survive. you going to la tomorrow though, yeah?_

_yeah…meeting up with gary for lunch and then..you know._

_i know. you okay? you don’t have to do anything besides being seen there, you know._

_…i guess. i don’t like it, lou._

_I know, haz. it’s nothing, okay? a few hours hanging out on set, meeting the contestants…you’ll barely even have to talk to her. then you jump on a plane and come home to me xx_

_yeah. yeah, okay. i’ll be alright. wish i wasn’t here by myself, though._

_same, love. you know how huge this house is for one person?? ha xx_

_i have an idea, yeah. alright i guess i’ll see you when i get home, then._

_are you SURE you’re okay??? do you want me to call?_

_it’s okay, it’s late. love you bear xx_

_i love you more, sunshine. think happy thoughts :))))))_

 

From what Louis can tell, Harry’s brief few hours with Taylor don’t go too badly. They’d barely had to interact once Harry had made sure he was seen. From the sounds of it, he’d spent most of his time speaking with the contestants. Then he was on a plane.

Louis is angry when Harry gets home, angry because Harry is exhausted and has to perform at BBC’s Children In Need almost as soon as he arrives. He makes himself feel better by fussing over Harry that night. Once they’re home from their performance, Louis puts ‘Mulan’ on (Harry loves Disney films at all times, but especially when he’s tired or sick). They curl up on the couch together, Harry’s head against Louis’ chest. Louis plays with Harry’s hair, fingers sifting gently through each strand until Harry is melting against him. He falls asleep soon after and Louis watches Mulan defeat the Huns while Harry snores softly into his neck.

 

 

The next day brings new challenges. Their team has decided to give Louis and Eleanor an anniversary. This makes no sense to Louis for many reasons. Chiefly, because whatever date his management have always tried to get him to remember is nowhere near November 17th. Still, it’s not his place to argue, apparently. The powers that be have also deemed it a good time for another ‘shakedown’ on Twitter (translated: they think it’s time for Louis to be a homophobic asshole again.) Louis’ pissed, but underneath that he’s resigned. They’ll do what they please no matter what; send the tweets, release a couple of old pictures, spread the articles to the appropriate websites. It’s all routine now, and Louis doesn’t have the energy to be annoyed about it.

What _does_ annoy him is when they tell him to tweet awful things to or about his fans. They did that already back in September and Harry had nearly walked out as a result. With the Taylor Situation looming ahead of them, the last thing Louis needs is another reason for he and Harry to fight.

 

He’d expressed all of this to Stan the other night, pouring his heart out over the phone while Harry was halfway across the world.

“This is such shit,” Louis complained through a mouthful of reheated pasta. “It doesn’t do anything useful. All it does is make El’s fans crazier, mine and Harry’s sadder, and make me look like a giant twat.”

“Mm,” Stan hummed on the other end of the line. “What exactly do they want you to say?”

Louis shrugged. “Same old crap, you know. Call a 'Larry' fan nuts, talk about how much I love El, etc etc.”

He suppressed a shiver of revulsion at the thought.

“What does Harry think?”

Louis sighed, putting his bowl down on the coffee table and folding his legs beneath him on the couch. “You know H, he’s sensitive about this stuff. He hates making the fans feel bad, and he _really_ hates when they make it obvious that I’m ‘with’ Eleanor. He’s upset, but he’s trying not to act like it.”

Stan was quiet for a minute and Louis fiddled absently with a loose thread on the edge of a cushion.

“I just hate that this has to hurt him too,” he murmured softly. “This Taylor thing…I’ve got such a bad feeling, you know? Harry keeps acting like it’s all going to be fine but I don’t think so. It’s going to hurt him more than he thinks and I _hate_ that he can’t see that yet. I hate that I’m adding to it.”

He’d probably never be able to say it to anyone except his best friend, but there it was.

“Christ, this does suck,” Stan said sympathetically. “I’m sorry man, I wish I could help.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed miserably. He wished Harry were home.

“Wait,” Stan said suddenly. “Wait a minute, Lou. I think I can help.”

“What?”

“Well…all the stuff you have to say, being mean to your fans and that…what if someone else did it?”

Louis thought this over for a long minute, and then smiled. “Stan, mate. You’re a genius.”

 

 

The “Extra Special Anniversary Extravaganza” goes off without a hitch, unfortunately. Louis tweets what he needs to, lets El post an old picture of them posing together, and watches as Stan does his part. Stan singles out some fans and proceeds to bully for them for having the gall to believe Harry and Louis are together.

It’s really quite disgusting to see. Stan’s a sweet guy, and far from homophobic. He’s always supported Louis and Harry’s relationship and seeing those words flow from his ‘mouth’ makes Louis feel sick.

It’s not only that. Louis’ own mentions are filled with abuse from hurt Larry fans, and he hates how much bullying is being spread around. All because of him.

It’s a difficult day. Louis is cooped up in the house, unable to be seen out since he’s supposed to be with El today. Harry has gone out, not keen to watch the drama unfold. Louis doesn’t blame him.

 

By the time Harry gets home, Louis is in a terrible mood. He’s tense, too many thoughts and worries whirling through his head. It’s not just today, although today sucked. He’ll never get used to the shame and horror that comes with these Twitter episodes. The sheer outpouring of hate and ignorance astounds him, and it stings sharply to see it. But his mood comes from more than that. It’s the stuff he was talking to Stan about - how worried Louis is about Harry in the coming months, and about their relationship withstanding all the pressure.

He thinks they’re strong enough, he really does. It’s just…anything could happen, couldn’t it?

Louis finds that terrifying.

 

Once Louis has settled into one of these moods, he tends to stick with it and wait for his usual optimism to return on its own. A good sulk never hurt anyone, Louis has always said, and sulking is definitely what he’s doing.

Harry disagrees with this particular coping mechanism. Instead, he does what he usually does when Louis has had a bad day; manhandles them both into a piping hot bath.

Louis clings stubbornly to his frown and tense shoulders for a few minutes, but he can tell that at this point his pouting is merely amusing to Harry.

“Oh come on, grumpypants,” Harry cajoles, leaning back against the edge of the tub and pulling Louis against him, chest to back. His arms sneak around Louis’ waist to hold him loosely. “I hate it when you’re like this.”

“I don’t love it either,” Louis admits. He leans back into Harry’s body and makes a genuine effort to clear his head.

Harry is quiet, allowing Louis to sort through his own thoughts. His hands spread out on Louis’ belly, fingers tracing patterns under the water. His mouth presses to Louis’ shoulder, softly reminding Louis of his presence. Louis soaks in the heat of the water, feeling his muscles loosen gradually. With Harry here Louis feels like everything’s not quite as daunting, not quite as scary. It doesn’t mean he’s not still worried, doesn’t mean anything is magically solved…but it helps to know that he’s never alone in this.

Louis sighs, relaxing fully in Harry’s hold and covering Harry’s hands with his own. He allows their fingers to interlace over his stomach. Harry’s lips press to his shoulder again, leaving gentle open-mouth kisses on the damp skin. Louis tilts his head invitingly, exposing his throat and Harry follows the line of his neck with his mouth.

And as much as Louis loves the excitement of his life, loves noise and chaos and causing trouble - sometimes he loves this more. It’s these quiet moments that he treasures, when it’s only himself and Harry, bodies pressed close with no need for words. It’s Harry’s hands and mouth on Louis’ skin, his comfort and his warmth.

 

[](http://s24.photobucket.com/user/Dot1234/media/bath_zpsfabb2a6c.jpg.html)

Harry's kisses continue on Louis' neck, pausing to suck gently at the spot under his ear which makes Louis shiver. He turns his head and finds Harry's mouth, kissing at his bottom lip first and then fitting them together properly, opening his mouth to Harry's tongue. Harry is warm and tastes faintly of the hot chocolate he'd sipped after dinner; sweet and comforting. Louis kisses him with no urgency, their tongues meeting languid and lazy. Harry's hands move against him under the water, sliding over Louis' belly and chest to brush his nipples. Louis gasps into the kiss, his nipples hardening instantly at the touch. He feels Harry smile and his thumb rubs over Louis' nipple again, teasing him. Louis arches into it, reaches up to cup the back of Harry's neck and kisses him harder.

 

Harry rolls his nipple between thumb and forefinger, then pinches it hard enough to make Louis squirm. The sharp burst of pain is soothed by the brush of Harry's fingers in circles around the spot. Heat spreads through Louis' body, his breath quickening as Harry continues to touch at his sensitive chest. They don't break the kiss but let themselves get dirtier and sloppy, their lips parting with wet, slick noises every few moments. Louis can feel Harry beginning to get hard beneath him and he grins, wiggling his hips so Harry's cock rubs against his ass. He gets another nipple pinch for that, but it's worth it.

For a long time they just lay there in the water together, exchanging hot kisses and getting each other worked up. It's one of those nights where Louis feels like he has all the time in the world and he's taking advantage of it. He savours the slide of Harry's lips against his and the way his hands move over Louis' body, catalogues the feel of Harry underneath him and how the water makes everything feel slick, warm and easy.

Harry's hand slips through the water to wrap around his cock and Louis hums a happy 'mmm,' his head falling back to rest against Harry's shoulder. His hips shift to meet Harry's hand and Harry strokes him slowly, mouthing lazily at Louis' throat. "Yeah?" Harry murmurs, speaking for the first time in what feels like hours. He rubs his thumb against the head of Louis cock and Louis moans, hips bucking.

"Yeah," he sighs, gripping the edge of the tub. "Yeah, Haz, s’good."

"Good," Harry nips at his neck then licks the skin, tongue warm and wet. "Lemme just - here."

Louis feels melted and loose from the water and all of Harry's attention, so he lets Harry move him however he wants. It's not much of a change; Harry's hands tug him closer and his palms cup the back of Louis' thighs, spreading them. Louis' brow furrows but then Harry shifts beneath him and his cock slips between Louis' ass cheeks, just right to rub up against him and - yeah. That works.

"That's it," Harry breathes, his hand wrapping around Louis' cock again. Louis moves against him experimentally, feeling how thick and hard Harry is against his ass, how Harry can fuck into the snug little spot. Harry groans, his other hand gripping tight to Louis' hip.

They settle into a rhythm, Harry's hand stroking Louis off slow and sure while his cock fucks into the soft, warm space between Louis' cheeks. It feels _incredible_ , Harry's long fingers moving on his cock and his mouth on Louis' neck and his dick hard against Louis' ass, making him ache for Harry to fuck him properly. He lets Harry control the pace, rolling back against him in time with Harry's hand on his cock.

Louis nearly loses it when Harry's lips drag up his neck to latch onto his earlobe. He takes the skin between his teeth, nibbling gently and then licking along the shell of Louis' ear. Louis whines, cock twitching in Harry's grip. Harry _knows_ how sensitive his ears are.

"You're gonna come for me, yeah," Harry's words rumble against his ear, slow and deep, and it's not a question. "You're gonna come for me, just from my hand on you, and then I'm gonna take you to bed and fuck you for real, babe. You want that, right?"

Louis nods frantically, rocking his hips harder. Just Harry’s _voice_ is getting him off, that rasping drawl bringing him closer to the edge. They're so close, the head of Harry's cock nudging against his hole and Louis wants it _so bad_ , blurting precome into the water. He gasps out a _please_ and Harry's hand speeds up, water sloshing over the sides of the tub with the movement.

"Gonna fuck you so good, Lou," Harry bites his earlobe again, hand still in a bruising hold around Louis' hip as he guides Louis' thrusts onto his cock. "Lay you down on your side, push into you all slow and deep like you like it, yeah? Keep you nice and full."

" _God,_ " Louis moans, and comes just from the thought of Harry's cock pressing into him big and thick. He bucks into Harry's fist, his orgasm hitting him full-force and spreading to his fingers and toes. Harry holds him through it, hand tight around his cock until Louis is spent. Harry comes against him a few moments later, his body jerking under Louis with his dick rubbing off against his ass.

When Louis begins to come out of his post-coital haze, he realises that the water has cooled to lukewarm around them, and also that a fair amount of it has slopped over the edges of the tub. He leans back against Harry with a sigh, smiling contentedly.

"There they are," Harry crows joyously, kissing at the corner of Louis' eye.

"There's what?" Louis asks, craning to look at him in confusion.

"Crinkles," Harry says simply, and kisses the corner of his eye again. "Haven't seen them all night, I missed them."

Louis rolls his eyes but he smiles despite himself. He lets Harry press kisses to his temple and cheeks for a minute before he makes himself move. "It's getting cold in here, sunshine. I believe I was promised a trip to bed?"

Harry beams at him, dimples out in full force. Louis supposes Harry is allowed to love his eye crinkles as long as he lets Louis poke his dimples as often as he likes. He does exactly that and Harry smiles harder, turning his head to kiss Louis' fingertips. "You were indeed, good sir. Let us adjourn to the boudoir."

"You're so weird." Louis laughs, standing on wobbly legs and stepping out of the bath. Harry clambers out behind him, curls dripping wet and water sluicing attractively over his pale skin. Louis watches him and licks his lips. He grabs Harry's hand and pulls him into their room, flopping onto the bed and pulling Harry on top of him.

They're still soaking wet and Louis laughs when his fingers tangle in Harry's hair. He opens his mouth to warm, sweet kisses. He pulls Harry closer so they're pressed together chest to knee, damp skin touching all over. Louis still really, really wants Harry to fuck him but he's not thinking much about the second round yet.

This is _fun_ , one of the best parts about sex with Harry. Louis loves that they can just roll around on their bed, kissing and touching like they did when they first got together. He loves laughing and smiling between kisses, loves how they can be silly with each other. They play-fight, tussling and rolling gently on the bed. If it was for real Harry would win hands-down, but he's such a gentle giant and he lets Louis win at least half the time. Eyes bright and smiling, Louis clambers on top of him and runs soft fingers down Harry's ticklish left side until Harry squeals and bucks against him. Louis laughs and bends to kiss Harry's nose, the corner of his mouth, the dimples in his cheeks.

"So beautiful," Louis breathes, his hands flattening over Harry's chest. He traces the outline of Harry's bird tattoos with his fingers, sliding over the birds' feathers, their tails, their gorgeous wings curving up over Harry's collarbones. They're so at home on Harry's skin now that Louis has a hard time remembering when they weren't there.

"You are," Harry returns with a smile, his hands touching Louis' knees where they've settled at his sides. Louis grins at him, running his index finger down Harry's chest, over his stomach and across to trace the 'might as well' tattoo on Harry's hip. He marvels, yet again, at how much Harry has grown lately, at how small Louis' hand looks against his body.

He leans down to press a kiss to Harry's mouth, tugging gently at his full lower lip before pulling away. “So what happened to fucking me, hmm?”

He gives a yelp of surprise that quickly turns to laughter when Harry flips them over suddenly, leaving Louis flat on his back and gasping. Harry kisses him hard, hands smoothing over Louis’ thighs and hips.

Harry finds lube in his bedside table and drizzles it over his fingers. He leans over Louis, their lips fitting together again as he nudges his fingertip up against Louis' hole. Louis bends his knees, spreading himself eagerly while Harry's finger slips inside him. Harry fits two fingers in quickly, knowing what Louis needs. Louis sighs as he feels himself stretch around him. Harry is slow but not teasing, fingers moving in and out of him in steady, thick drags that make Louis clench needily around him. His cock is fattening against his belly, hips rocking to meet Harry's hand.

Finally, when Louis is hard and whining against Harry's mouth, his fingers slip free. "Turn over for me," Harry requests, voice rough. Louis rolls onto his side and Harry fits himself up against his back. His hand slides over Louis' hip, his thigh, gripping underneath Louis' knee to lift his leg. His cock nudges between Louis' cheeks, slippery with lube. It's the same tease as earlier but this time Harry pushes inside and Louis could sob with how good it feels.

Harry presses into him steadily, one long thick burn that fades into exquisite pleasure as he bottoms out. He peppers kisses to Louis' shoulder and stays inside him for a long moment. Louis' eyes close at the feeling and he reaches back to touch Harry's hip. "Harry," he murmurs. Harry grips his knee and begins to pull out, only going halfway before thrusting back inside again.

"Fuck," Louis turns his face into the bedspread, the fabric cool against his hot cheek. This is one of his favourite positions; Harry wrapped around him from behind, big, warm and solid, with his cock sliding into Louis slow and easy.

Harry is _slow_ , moving in and out of him in these delicious long drags that have Louis feeling every inch of him. He never pulls out completely so Louis feels full the whole time. It's easy to get lost in Harry's slow rhythm. Louis lets himself melt into it until he feels like he's floating in a kind of sex haze, warm and relaxed with Harry fucking into him so carefully.

As slow as it is, the build-up is incredible. Louis is flushed and breathless, his cock curved up against his stomach and his lip pulled between his teeth to keep from whimpering. Everywhere Harry touches him leaves sparks under his skin; Harry's mouth against his shoulder, kissing his back, Harry's big hand smoothing up his thigh.

It's so good that Louis feels like he's losing his mind, his brain clouding over until all he can feel is Harry's cock sliding in and out of him. "Harry, baby," Louis says weakly. He turns his face into the pillow and groans as Harry grazes his prostate again.

"Mmm?" Harry nuzzles the back of his neck sweetly, pressing wet kisses in a line along the nape. "What do you need?"

"Just, a little bit faster? And talk to me?"

Harry complies immediately, picking up the pace enough for Louis to be whimpering and pushing back into it. Then Harry's mouth is against his ear, whispering and oh god, Louis is so gone.

"I was thinking," Harry starts. His hand is on Louis' hip again, fingers pressing down into the soft flesh and Louis really, really hopes it bruises. "Was thinking about your gorgeous ass, Lou, and how much I want to eat you out.”

" _Christ,_ " Louis sputters. He curls his hand around his own cock, not stroking but holding himself in an effort to stave off his orgasm. He squeezes at the base and tries not to think about how quickly he came the last time Harry got his tongue on him.

"But then I thought, I'd really rather just come inside you and then lick it out," Harry punctuates his statement with a bite to Louis' earlobe. Louis has to squeeze his eyes shut and count to ten to stop himself from coming right then. "You want that?"

"Fuck, Harry, yes, please, yes yes yes," Louis babbles, pushing his ass back onto Harry's cock.

Harry's thrusts quicken into short, hard pushes that have Louis rocking forward on the bed. He can already tell that Harry is close by the way he's breathing, how his fingers are clenching on Louis' hip. When he does come Louis feels it; feels Harry's cock throb inside him and the sudden warmth of his come filling Louis up. "Oh my god," Louis mutters, his ass clenching. He _loves_ that feeling, loves being all full and wet and messy from Harry, loves how it feels dripping down his thighs after and how sometimes he can still feel Harry for hours afterwards.

Harry pulls out and pushes Louis' shoulder until he rolls onto his stomach, loose as a ragdoll. Louis' still painfully hard and he whines into the pillow as his cock brushes the bedspread beneath him. Harry scoots down the bed and his big hands are eager on Louis' ass, kneading the muscle and pulling his cheeks apart. Louis cries out when he feels Harry's tongue touch at his hole, licking at the come that's started to drip out. Harry leaves open-mouthed kisses all around, then little kitten licks to get every drop of the warm liquid. He makes a pleased humming noise, digging his thumbs in on either side of Louis' rim and holding him open to push his tongue inside.

“So wet, babe,” Harry mutters thickly. “Got you good and deep, didn’t I?” His mouth withdraws and Louis whines desperately. Harry’s finger presses into him, crooking and then pulling out and Louis sobs into the pillow when he realises what Harry’s doing; drawing more of his own come out of Louis’ body. Louis can feel it dripping messily down and then Harry’s lips are on him again, lapping eagerly at the wetness.

Louis has always said that Harry is good with his hands but god, the boy knows how to use his mouth. His lips are soft and wet as they kiss and lick at Louis' hole, tongue hot as it fucks into him in short little thrusts. Louis is nearly _crying_ with how overwhelmed he is, his hands curving into fists in the bedspread and his toes curling. And then he is crying, tears leaking from his eyes because it's just this side of too much.

Harry's tongue works at him, laying broad swipes over his rim before kissing at him again, latching on and _sucking_ like he's trying to get at any stray drops of come. He holds Louis open again, tongue fucking into him just like his cock was earlier and Louis is shaking when he comes, cock spurting against his stomach and chest before he can even get a hand on himself.

 

Louis thinks he actually comes so hard that he passes out for a few seconds. When he comes to, head swimming and body throbbing happily, Harry is turning him gently onto his back.

"Hi there," Harry brushes Louis' fringe out of his eyes and thumbs at the dampness on Louis' cheeks. His eyes are soft, smile fond. "Okay?"

It takes Louis a minute to find his voice. "Yeah," he rasps, smiling weakly. He can't feel his legs.

Harry kisses his cheek, petting Louis' sides. He eyes the mess of come on Louis' belly and quirks an eyebrow. "D'you want to shower before we go to sleep, or -"

Louis laughs, giddy from orgasm. "Babe, if you think I can walk after that you are severely underestimating yourself."

Harry grins and kisses him again. "Alright, wait here."

He climbs off the bed and heads toward the bathroom, while Louis sighs and stretches languidly. He feels fantastic; loose and relaxed and very, very loved.

Harry comes back from the bathroom a minute later and cleans them both off with a warm cloth before slumping down and pulling Louis close. Louis cuddles in quickly, face tucked into Harry's neck. He's half-asleep already but he takes a moment to press a kiss to Harry's skin and murmur a goodnight. The last thing he feels before he drops off to sleep is Harry's lips against his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has his first date with Taylor, and the boys perform at MSG.

A couple of weeks later, it's time to head stateside again. It should all be routine by now, but Louis feels uneasy as he packs up to leave during the last week of November.

Maybe it's because they're doing full-length shows for the first time in months, or maybe it's the sheer magnitude of the Madison Square Garden show. Maybe it's the fact that Harry has his first 'date' with Taylor scheduled for December 2nd.

Probably, it's a combination of all three that has Louis frowning as he folds jumpers and jeans for the two-week trip. They always knew December would be rough on them but not knowing exactly what's to come is making him antsy. Generally Louis thrives on the unexpected, loves new challenges and surprises, but with this he just wants to know exactly what he's in for so he can start dealing with it already.

Harry is out tonight so Louis is packing for them both, half paying attention to an episode of Homeland he has playing on his laptop as he works. It's a mindless, simple job and Louis appreciates the chance to clear his head. It's easy to focus on the little things - those jeans are Harry's: fold, in the left bag. That shirt is his: fold, in the right bag. If he concentrates hard enough on his task, Louis can almost shut out the niggling voice of worry that's screaming at him from the back of his head.

He pauses on a navy blue hoodie fresh from the dryer, soft and clean. Louis is almost certain it belonged to him originally, but Harry has been wearing it in the last few weeks. Louis remembers how comfortable it is, so he ends up throwing it over a chair for himself to wear the following day.

Harry comes home a few hours later, pink-cheeked from the cold November air and smiling. Their last night together in London is quiet and peaceful. Nobody mentions Taylor Swift.

 

Everything is business as usual the following day as they prepare to board their flight to the US. Then all of a sudden it's not, with the authorities kicking up a fuss about Zayn's visa. Louis doesn't understand what exactly goes wrong; something about authentication and 'security purposes' but the basic message is clear: Zayn won't be flying today. He watches as Zayn's dark eyes fill with worry and frustration. Before he knows it, Louis’ putting up his hand to stay behind with the other boy.

"Lou, you don't have to do that," Zayn says, but his voice is soft with gratitude.

"It's fine," Louis argues lightly. "I can stand one more night in the UK, I think."

So it's an unexpected goodbye as Niall, Liam and Harry prepare to take off without them. Harry's face drops as soon as Louis explains that he won't be coming along, and Louis understands. Normally he wouldn't be pouting about it but it was one of their last chances to have time together before all the drama begins. Louis is already feeling robbed of the extra twenty four hours they could have had.

He can't kiss Harry goodbye in the middle of an airport, even if they'd snuck in the side doors this morning. Louis does risk a hug and he touches his thumb fleetingly to Harry's pouty lower lip. "Hey, none of that," he reprimands softly. He shrugs out of the navy hoodie and presses it into Harry's hands, still warm and smelling of himself.

Harry's face lights up and he pulls his own jacket off to put the hoodie on underneath, drawing the hood up over tousled curls. "Thanks, Lou."

Louis squeezes Harry's wrist. "See you tomorrow."

 

Louis and Zayn sneak into JFK in the early hours of the following day, pale and puffy-eyed with dry throats from too much recycled air. Louis leans into Zayn in the car while Connecticut wakes up around them. When they pull into the hotel, the sky is just beginning to streak with morning light. Louis and Zayn request their keycards from the front desk and stumble their way up to their floor.

Harry is dead asleep, flat on his belly when Louis opens the door and finds his way to bed by the light of his phone. All Louis can see is a tuft of dark curls and a flash of navy - Harry's still wearing his hoodie. Louis smiles, lifts the sheets as gently as he can and slides in beside Harry. It's wonderful to be lying flat on the soft mattress after so many hours on the plane and Louis hums a quiet satisfied noise. He folds into Harry's side and curls his arm around his back, pressing a kiss to Harry's shoulder. Harry merely snuffles into the pillow and Louis smiles, closing his eyes.

 

They have a couple of days of rehearsals and then it's time for their first warm-up concert at Mohegan Sun. Honestly, the concert is a bit of a blur to Louis. He's way too caught up in the thrill of performing again, having his boys nearby to play off and the roar of the crowd in front of them. Louis is still bouncing by the time they get offstage and he can't _wait_ for MSG.

Their families start to trickle in to the US the following day: there’s Harry's mother and stepfather, Gemma, Perrie and her mother, the Riach boys, Liam's sisters and parents, Danielle, Niall's brother and father and of course Louis' sisters, mother, mother's boyfriend...and Eleanor. That's fine, as far as Louis is concerned. They always knew she would have to be here for such a big event. Louis doesn't mind so much when she's just hanging out with his family, it's when _he_ has to be around her that he's bothered about it.

Harry and Louis decide to have dinner with just their mothers that night, in a quiet corner of the hotel restaurant. They've always been a special little unit, the four of them, and while Harry loves Robin and Louis likes Dan just fine, the bond they have with their stepfathers (or almost-stepfather, in Louis' case), are not nearly as strong as what they have with their mothers. And Louis adores Anne; she's whip-smart and so warm, accepted Louis into her family just as Louis' own mother did for Harry.

It helps, Louis thinks, that Anne and Jay are the best of friends too. The camaraderie between the four of them is comforting, conversation flowing easily. This is the kind of time that Louis looks forward to and remembers fondly - it's so difficult for them all to be together at once nowadays.

It's as dessert is being placed in front of them that Anne addresses the elephant in the room.

"So, tomorrow," she begins delicately.

"Tomorrow," Harry echoes. His voice is soft but Louis can feel how much he tenses up. He slips a hand under the table to rest it on Harry's knee, fingers digging in slightly to let Harry know he's there. Harry breathes out and addresses his mother again. "It's...it's going to be difficult, we know that."

Anne holds a hand up, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk about how awful it's going to be. I think we've all dwelled on that quite enough. What I want is to make sure that you're going to be okay." Her eyes drift from her son to meet Louis' gaze. "Both of you."

Harry and Louis look at each other. Harry looks scared, but there's something in the steely look in his eyes and the firm set of his mouth that tells Louis he's ready for this. Harry's stronger than people make out, and underneath the dimples and big eyes he's actually very mature. He agreed to this, and Louis thinks he's going to be able to handle it.

Harry's eyes search Louis' face too, and they have a short, silent conversation as their mothers watch on. Finally they turn back, and Harry's hand covers Louis' on his knee.

"We're going to be okay," he promises. "Really."

 

Louis' not certain that their mothers buy it. They're both quietly furious about the whole deal, another blow in a long line of hits their families have taken for this relationship. It's times like these that Louis is hit with the magnitude of what they're doing - the huge, tangled, impossible story they're spinning and the people who've had to become involved. It kills him that he's made a liar out of his own mother and he knows how much Harry worries about Anne, always. It's not fair.

They walk Anne and Jay back to their hotel rooms, exchanging warm hugs and whispered words before entering their own room. Louis feels drained already, weighed down with the knowledge of what's to come tomorrow.

Harry is quiet as they get ready for bed - worryingly so. He disappears into the bathroom to shower without saying a word to Louis, then crawls beneath the sheets in the same silence.

Louis weighs his options. Pushing Harry into talking might actually help - Harry tends to draw security and comfort from being given direction. It's just that if Louis pushes too hard before Harry is ready, he might not be calm enough to express himself. Louis knows they need to talk before tomorrow, that's no question. He feels like they're going into battle, like he should be saying goodbye.

Louis waits. Not for long, but he waits. He settles on his side against the sheets, watching Harry quietly. Harry is laid flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his chest. It takes him quite a while to turn onto his side and meet Louis' eyes.

Harry isn't surprised to find Louis watching him. His mouth pulls up in a ghost of a smile, dimples refusing to appear. "Hey." His voice is thick and Louis already wants to cry.

"Hi," Louis replies softly. He finds Harry's hand and interlaces their fingers, curling his hand so their wrists press together. Their tattoos line up, the quotation marks on Louis' arm against Harry's "I Can't Change" and one of Louis' birds touching Harry's "Things I Can't". Louis likes that, the way they match, and he thinks briefly that he'd like their whole arms to line up one day.

It's a thought for another time and Louis files it away, resting their joined hands on the mattress between them. He looks up to find Harry watching their hands too, taking in the way his fingers curl between Louis', how their palms touch. It's funny, Louis thinks, that their hands are so different but they've always seemed to fit together so beautifully.

"What if I can't do it?" Harry's voice is small and scared. Big green eyes stare back at Louis and all Louis can think is of how _young_ Harry is. He shouldn't be having to deal with something like this.

"You can do it." Louis doesn't let a single note of doubt creep into his tone. Right now Harry needs this. He needs certainty, reassurance and comfort, and if Louis controls himself Harry will never need to know how worried he is. "We'll go one day at a time, my love. Tomorrow you just need to walk through a park, you see? That's nothing."

"With her," Harry adds, mouth lowering unhappily. "And the cameras."

"Don't tell me you can't deal with cameras yet," Louis teases lightly. "How many thousands of paps have we had stalking us by now?"

"Not the same," Harry insists stubbornly. "How do I - I don't even really like her, what if I can't pretend?"

"You do your best," Louis coaches. "Smile at her, give her as much attention as you can, walk close enough to be friendly but not coupley yet, because they haven't asked for that. If you need a distraction you talk to Lou or Tom or play with Lux, that's the whole reason they're coming along. Keep the conversation light and if you get bored, well. Think of something else. Think of me."

He offers a small smile at that last part but Harry doesn't return it. "I don't think I want to think about you when I'm with her," he responds. "It would feel too weird, like I was betraying you."

"You're not," Louis argues, wriggling forward so their knees knock together. He squeezes Harry's fingers. "I know what you're really doing, what you're really feeling. It's just the same as me and El, we both know what's real and what's not."

"Still hurts," Harry whispers, and Louis feels the words like a punch in the gut.

"I know," he leans in further and touches his lips to Harry's gently. "And I'm still sorry for it."

"I don't want this," Harry says, voice thick again and Louis' stomach plummets when he sees Harry's eyes shining with tears. "I never wanted this. I just want to tell the truth, I just want people to know who I really am and who you are. I want them to know that what we have is real and wonderful and not something people should have to hide."

Louis' throat goes painfully tight. He pulls Harry close, hand cupping the back of his head as Harry's face presses into his neck and leaves tear tracks against the skin. He’s surprised to see Harry break down so completely; he’s been so strong up until now. Louis suspects that Harry has been pushing these kind of thoughts to the back of his mind, trying to stay positive. But now they’re here, the day before it all goes ahead. It must be hitting him hard.

"I want that too," Louis murmurs. His free hand rubs circles on Harry's back and he drops mindless kisses into Harry's curls. "I want to be able to love you like you deserve, and I want to stop all the stupid games and the lies and I want - god, Harry, I just want _you,_ all of you, where everyone can see."

[](http://s24.photobucket.com/user/Dot1234/media/3_zps9d79b477.jpg.html)

Harry snuffles into his neck and he releases an anguished sob that makes Louis' heart stutter. "Shhh, darling," he murmurs. "It's alright, we have time. What do we always say, hmm? A few months is nothing compared to the future, right? Three months is a tiny blip on the radar for us."

Harry nods, a few more hot tears dropping against Louis' neck as he begins to calm down. Louis shifts onto his back, dragging Harry with him until he's laid flat with Harry curled against his side, arms and legs octupussed around Louis' body and face tucked into the crook of his neck.

"Tomorrow, the next few months - it's going to hurt," Louis says, because there's no point pretending otherwise. His voice cracks as he adds, "It's really, really going to hurt and I don't know exactly what's going to happen but you need - _we_ need to keep in mind what we're doing and why, okay?"

Harry sniffles again and replies, in a watery voice, "Because modern society is comprised of homophobic twats who can't see true love when it whacks them over the head with a frying pan?"

Louis lets out a surprised bark of laughter at that, ruffling Harry's curls and then digging his thumb into Harry's side until he yelps. "Well yes, that and because we're protecting our boys and our career, yeah? We can't risk things falling apart yet."

"I know," Harry is resigned now and his tears have stopped. He emerges from his spot buried in Louis' neck, wiping at his wet cheeks. His lip is still trembling but he manages to press a kiss to the worried furrow between Louis' eyebrows. They roll onto their sides again, noses brushing as they look at each other. Harry's eyes are rimmed in red, lashes clumping together with leftover tears.

"We've got time," Louis repeats, and they both know he's not talking about the hours before tomorrow. He's talking about the years - maybe decades - that stretch out ahead of them.

Harry nods. "Can we talk about it? Please."

"Sure, Haz."

This is an old routine for them; spinning stories about their future to help themselves feel better about their present. Louis casts his mind around for something new to cover. They were discussing travel destinations last time. He decides to go for full, tooth-aching sappiness tonight. He feels like Harry needs it.

Louis snuggles in close, pulling the blankets up over their shoulders so they're sharing a cocoon of warmth. "You already know I'm going to marry you."

Harry's mouth spreads into a bright smile, dimples finally on full display. "I want that so much," he breathes, eyes bright. "What'll it be like?"

"However we want it," Louis whispers. "It might be huge and showy with hundreds of guests and a massive reception that everyone wants an invite to. It might be tiny, us and the boys and our families in our garden at home. Maybe we'll wear matching suits or maybe we'll do it on the beach somewhere and wear shorts. I don't know yet, I just know I'll be there to put a ring on your finger."

"Louis," Harry whispers back, overwhelmed again but for entirely different reasons.

"And I'll tell everyone who'll listen that you're mine. _Everyone,_ Harry."

"More," Harry begs softly. His eyes are closed.

"We'll have a massive cake and I'll get icing all over your lovely curls when you're not looking. Niall will get piss-drunk and teach half the guests an Irish jig before passing out under a table. Liam will make an awkward speech that still manages to make everyone cry, and Zayn will do one that embarrasses the hell out of both of us. Possibly it will include a slide-show of incriminating pictures. Our mums will cry and hug us all night, and Gemma will help all my girls with their hair and makeup and then introduce them to cute boys. Nick will cop off with one of my previously-straight cousins in the toilets and Ed will show up in what he calls a 'formal hoodie.' Lux will be in her best party dress and she'll dance on your big clown feet, and the wedding band will play 'What Makes You Beautiful' just to make everyone laugh. And you and me? We'll be in the middle of it all but we'll barely notice. I know I won't be able to look away from you. I'll have your ring on my finger and that's all I want, Harry. That's all we're ever going to need."

When Louis finally stops, his mind whirling with all the images he just conjured, he realises that Harry has gone slack in his arms. His breathing has evened, mouth soft and open. He's asleep, and Louis is glad to see it. He gathers Harry closer still and shuts his eyes.

 

Harry wakes on the morning of December 2nd, 2012, and thinks _everything changes today_.

It’s not for the better. He sighs, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach as he thinks about what’s going to happen later.

Harry turns onto his side and reaches for his phone on the bedside table, checking it mostly out of habit. It’s still early but he feels antsy, not quite right in his own skin.

Putting his phone down, Harry turns back around to face the other side of the bed, where Louis is still sleeping soundly. He’s rolled onto his belly in the night, one hand tucked under his pillow and the other curled loosely against the sheets. His back is bare and tempting in the early morning light, sheets just covering the curve of his ass.

Louis is so sweet when he sleeps, peaceful like a cat in the sun with his face soft, his body loose and relaxed. Harry stares at him for a long time, taking in every inch of golden skin, the way Louis’ long eyelashes brush the tops of his cheeks.

When Louis wakes up, glassy blue eyes blinking at him, Harry doesn’t look away. Louis’ mouth curves up in a sleepy, teasing smile. “Y’alright there, curly?”

“Hi, you’re beautiful,” Harry ducks to press a kiss to the end of Louis’ nose, which wrinkles adorably. A faint blush stains Louis’ cheeks and he smiles sleepily.

“And you’re sappy. What time is it?”

“Early,” Harry replies, which probably isn’t helpful at all but Louis seems to accept it.

“You okay?” Louis asks, and Harry can _see_ how the peace he found in sleep starts to leave him. He can see the moment Louis remembers the worries that are weighing him down, can see how his mouth tightens and his eyes harden. It’s heartbreaking.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Louis makes an unhappy face and tugs on one of Harry’s curls. “We’ll be fine, H,” he says determinedly. “One day at a time.”

They choose to spend their morning in bed with room service instead of going down for the buffet with the other boys. Harry is quiet, trying to gear himself up for his date with Taylor later, and Louis is louder than usual to make up for it. He does that, Louis; bounces around and makes jokes and silly faces to cover his discomfort, talks about everything but what’s bothering him. Harry doesn’t call him on it today. It’s a distraction, at least, from what’s going on inside his own head.

When breakfast is finished they shower and dress, bundling up against the cold waiting for them outside. Louis has quietened, shrunk back into his own head so their routine is lacking its usual light conversation and gentle teasing.

 

Harry is planning on meeting with Lou and Tom in their room down the hall before they go to Central Park, and Louis is going to the lobby to find Eleanor.

“Keep it light, and focus on Lux if you’re really uncomfortable,” Louis reminds him as they stand in front of the door together. He reaches to tuck Harry’s hair into his beanie properly, then straightens Harry’s jacket, pulling it tighter against his body. Louis likes to groom Harry when he’s feeling particularly possessive or jealous; it seems to calm him to stake his claim.

“Okay,” Harry catches Louis’ hands to pause their nervous fiddling on the buttons on his coat. “Louis. This isn’t the end of the world, it’s one date. I’m going to be fine.”

Louis bites his lip. “I know.” He flicks his gaze up to meet Harry’s and offers a wretched half-smile. “I think I’m stressing about it more than you are.”

“You’re protective, it’s cute.” Harry smiles at him and Louis rolls his eyes. He rocks up onto his toes to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead, then his nose, then his mouth.

“Just…just be okay, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Louis snorts a small laugh. “Is ‘okay’ no longer a word or is that just me?”

“Oookay,” Harry draws the word out, frowning. “Yeah, now it sounds really weird. Okay. O-kay. Damn you, I can’t even say it any more.”

“Sorry,” Louis starts buttoning up his grey peacoat and then looks up at Harry again, finally smiling genuinely. “Time to go, sunshine. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Alright, Lou.” Harry ducks his head and presses a final soft kiss to Louis’ mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis’ reply is quiet, his hand light on Harry’s waist before he finally slips out the door.

 

Central Park is cold, green and beautiful, and Harry would rather be literally anywhere else in the world.

There are cameras following their every move, which Harry figures he should be used to by now. But he’s never had them on him when he was doing something like this, and for the first time he feels hounded, scrutinised, _judged_. He’s hyper-aware of his every movement - should he walk closer to Taylor, or try to look more interested in her words? Should he try for a friendly touch or a brighter smile? He’s such a terrible actor and everything he does feels stilted and confused.

Taylor is very nice. She’s sweet and chatty, peppering Harry with questions as they walk together and make silly faces at Lux. She asks him to tell her the story of One Direction and X Factor, which he does. Taylor seems to be genuinely interested. She smiles understandingly as Harry complains about jam-packed schedules and the exhaustion of tour.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way though, would we?” She says with a knowing look as they sit down together near the seal enclosure. Lux stands between Harry’s knees, wobbling on her feet as she watches the animals in fascination.

“No,” Harry agrees, smiling for what feels like the first time. “No, I suppose not.”

He really does want to get along with Taylor. Harry knows how much easier this whole situation will be if they can be friends, much like Louis and El have managed over time. Louis always says that at least he likes Eleanor if he’s going to have to touch her so often. If he thinks about it, Taylor hasn’t given Harry reason to dislike her and he’s always believed in finding the best in people.

“So tell me how you got started.” Harry prompts. Taylor grins brightly and starts to talk.

She tells him about where she grew up, about performing in Pennsylvania as a child and falling in love with it.

“I was fourteen when we moved to Nashville,” she explains. “I just knew that that was where I needed to be, you know? And my parents had finally realised that I wasn’t going to grow out of it. So we went, and I got signed, started writing...I guess things went from there. Then it was performing and tour, fans popping up out of nowhere. It’s been crazy ever since, I still can’t even believe it.”

Harry nods, impressed. He’d had no idea she started out so early, been in the business for so long. Yes, he has a vague idea of her success, has heard about the awards and the sales figures. He didn’t know how hard she had worked for it in the first place. He feels a new respect toward her and nods along as she continues to tell him about her career.

As the day wears on, Harry is slowly starting to wrap his head around what he’s doing here. Taylor is being so friendly and is obviously putting a lot of effort into the ruse. She walks close to Harry, her body language open and welcoming. Harry finds it much more difficult. It’s not Taylor that’s the problem, he keeps reminding himself. It’s the situation. He feels so uncomfortable with the lie. It’s another one to add to the pile, another step in the long line of attempts to keep him in the closet. It adds a quiet kind of desperation to everything Harry is feeling and he finds it very difficult to focus. His emotions whirl dangerously between sadness, worry and anger. Taylor has no such problem. She’s taking the whole thing in stride. Harry supposes she probably has a lot less to lose.

“So which one is it again?” she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking at him inquisitively.

“Which one is what?” Harry asks, mystified.

“Your boy. The one you’re hiding? He’s in the band with you, right?”

Harry’s throat feels tight. “Oh.”

On some level, of course he knew that Taylor would have been informed about Louis. It was part of the deal, he guesses, when they presented the plan to her. She would have asked why it was necessary for someone like Harry to need an arrangement in the first place.

He clears his throat. “Um. It’s Louis.”

Taylor’s brow furrows for a moment. “Okay, I know Zayn because he’s pretty and Niall because he’s blonde, and you because _obviously_ , but I always get the other two mixed up. They’ve both got brown hair, right?”

Harry winces at how she breaks them down. It’s exactly how they’re marketed - Zayn the ‘pretty, mysterious one’, Niall the ‘blonde Irish one’, Harry the ‘ladies man with the curls.’ Such neat little boxes for them to fit into. He’s always hated it.

“Uh, yeah, they do.” He frowns, trying to think of a simple way to describe Louis. How could anyone pack everything Louis is into a few words? “Louis’ the funny one, I guess that’s how everyone remembers him. He’s smaller than Liam, got blue eyes?”

Taylor’s eyes widen in recognition. “Oh of course, the little camp one. That makes sense.”

Surprised, Harry looks over at her. “What does that mean?”

Taylor shrugs. “Just that Liam is all boyish and straight and Louis is much more girly. Doesn’t take a genius to pick out which one’s gay.”

She smiles sweetly at him, waiting patiently for his response. Harry can only blink at her. Her words have him on edge and she seems to have no idea she’s said anything wrong. Harry would love to call her on it, but he doesn’t know _how_. Besides, they still have to work together for the next three months. Picking a fight on the first day seems like a bad choice.

He settles on an awkward shrug, and Taylor continues, “I’ve seen pictures of you two together. You’re pretty cute.”

Harry shrugs again. “Thanks, I guess.”

“How long have you been dating?”

Biting his lip, Harry hesitates. She’s all wide-eyed curiosity, blinking innocently at him. “I’d really rather not talk about him, if that’s okay?” Harry says haltingly. “I just - it’s kind of private and…” he trails off. “I’d rather not.”

It’s hard to explain how much he wants to keep the two worlds of HarryandTaylor and HarryandLouis from colliding. Louis is one part of his life; a bright and happy and _wonderful_ part. Taylor represents something much darker for Harry. As much as possible, he'd like to keep them separate.

“Oh,” Taylor’s eyes narrow in a brief show of annoyance before her face clears and she’s smiling prettily at him again. “Sure, sure, I get it.”

 

When it’s deemed that Harry and Taylor have fulfilled their photo op duties for the day, they’re allowed to say goodbye. Harry heads back to the hotel with Tom and Lou. He feels hollow and numb with the knowledge of what he’s done, what he’s started. He feels like he’s sold his soul.

The room at the hotel is empty; Louis must still be out with Eleanor. Harry shoots off a quick text to Louis letting him know that it’s over and he’s fine, and then switches his phone off. The news about he and Taylor will be spreading already and he doesn’t want to see the responses to it yet.

Harry spends the afternoon with his mum and sister in their room, hiding out from the world. Luckily, they don’t push him to talk. Finally, he decides he has to face reality and trudges back to his own room, where Louis is waiting with Harry’s abandoned phone in his hand.

“Could have told me you were going offline,” Louis comments, but he doesn’t look angry. He’s lying barefoot in bed with the TV set to MTV. Louis hates MTV, so it’s safe to say he hasn’t really been watching. He hasn’t changed out of his black jeans and long-sleeved grey shirt - there’s no point because they’re both going out again tonight. He looks tired.

“Sorry,” Harry flops onto the bed, head landing somewhere near Louis’ hip. “I don’t want to be flooded with texts yet, you know?”

Louis hums in agreement and reaches down to run his fingers gently through Harry’s hair. “You okay?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. It was…it wasn’t _bad_ , I guess? It was just awkward.”

Louis tugs on Harry’s hair until Harry turns to look up at him. “You want to talk about it properly, or -”

“No,” Harry wriggles closer and drops his head to rest on Louis’ belly. “Let’s just do nothing for a bit, yeah?”

“Alright,” Louis agrees softly. He changes the channel to a Friends rerun, leaving the volume low.

Harry closes his eyes. He’s felt wound tight all day and Louis’ hand stroking through his curls is finally unravelling him, bit by bit. He releases a slow breath and turns to nuzzle Louis’ stomach. Louis laughs and the sound rumbles up under Harry’s cheek, making him smile.

He knows there are things that they need to talk about. He knows that there is much worse to come. But for now, this is enough.

 

 

‘Worse’ actually hits the very next morning.

Harry wakes up to a cold, empty bed and a cold, empty hotel room. He frowns as he gets up, looking around the room for clues for where Louis has gone. There’s a half-eaten breakfast left on the bench in the room’s kitchenette, right next to Louis’ laptop. Harry taps the keyboard to wake it up, and then swears violently.

Of course Louis would go looking for the pictures. He’d want to see for himself what Harry and Taylor looked like together, would want to read the headlines.

“Goddamnit,” Harry hisses, closing his eyes. He imagines Louis, sleepy-eyed and soft, opening his computer. He imagines how Louis’ mouth tightened and his eyes went cold and hard as he looked at the literal _hundreds_ of pictures of Harry and Taylor together, at the gushing articles about the ‘budding romance.’

It’s exactly what they expected and somehow a thousand times worse. Harry feels like he’s been hit with a giant hammer with ' _this is really happening'_ emblazoned on it. He imagines Louis went through something similar.

He needs to find Louis, needs to know that he’s okay. He calls, but Louis’ phone goes straight to voicemail and then his texts go unanswered. Harry begins to pace the room, sending out texts to anyone who might know where Louis is. Finally it’s Paul who replies: _don’t you remember? He and El were supposed to be seen out this morning, they’re being papped now but we’ll be back soon. he looks terrible, what’s going on?_

Harry swears again, clutching his phone tightly as he reads over Paul’s words. Louis almost never shows it when he’s upset; he holds it close to himself, pockets it away and hates letting anyone see through him. If he’s upset enough for Paul to notice…that’s not a good sign.

 _when is soon???_ he taps out, then _why is his phone off?? what do you mean, terrible????_

_calm down, h. ten minutes and you can ask him yourself._

Ten minutes. Harry can wait ten minutes. He gets himself dressed, carelessly throwing on a white shirt and some jeans. Then he paces.

He wonders if Louis even slept last night. They had been separated again after their brief quiet time - Louis out to Broadway with Liam, Zayn, Perrie, Danielle and Eleanor, and Harry out with Taylor again. Harry’s second ‘date’ hadn’t gone any better than his first and he’d hoped that at least Louis had had a better time with the other boys at the show. But when Louis returned, it was late and he was grumpy from having the paps in his face as he and El had left the theatre.

They had gone to bed with the tension of the day lingering in the air, and Louis was definitely still awake when Harry had finally dropped off.

 

As soon as Louis enters the room Harry _knows_ he hasn’t slept. Louis looks terrible; he’s casual in jeans and a pink shirt with his beanie covering his hair, but his _face_ \- Louis looks…exhausted. Devastated. He’s pale, puffy bags under his eyes and when he meets Harry’s gaze he doesn’t smile. His mouth is turned down in that puppy-dog look he gets when he’s trying his best not to cry.

Louis hangs his head as he shuts the door and puts his wallet down on the bench in the kitchenette. He sees his open laptop, looks back at Harry and nods to himself. “I guess you saw why I had a bad morning.”

“Lou -” Harry starts, and doesn’t even know where to start. He wants to wrap Louis up and hold him until Louis smiles again, but Louis is giving off clear ' _don’t touch me'_ vibes. Harry watches him instead, curling his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out.

Louis talks over him. “So, the publicity machine rolls on, doesn’t it?” his voice is too loud, too brittle. He gestures broadly to the laptop and his hand is trembling. “You look good together, you know. Tall, leggy. Heterosexual. ’S’what they want, isn’t it?”

“Louis -” Harry says again, helpless. He has never seen Louis like this, this horrifying mixture of sad, angry and desperate. Again, Louis interrupts him.

“Lothario Harry Styles Bags Another One,” Louis sneers, and Harry knows it’s not personally directed at him but he flinches anyway. “Womaniser Harry Styles, Cougar-Chaser Harry Styles, Shags 400 Women In A Year Harry Styles. That’s what they want, isn’t it? It can’t be In A Committed Relationship Harry Styles, or Loves His Boyfriend Harry Styles, no, because you can’t be in a famous boyband if you like cock, can you?”

Louis is crying, tears shining in his eyes as he continues to rant. Harry can only watch in horror. He’s only seen Louis cry half a dozen times, each more painful than the last. Louis barely seems to notice, the tears spilling over his cheeks while he talks.

“Then there’s his bandmate Louis, look at how straight Louis is, look at his pretty girlfriend, look how uncomfortable he is with the gay rumours, look what a homophobic _dick_ he is to his fans, but it’s all okay because at least he’s not in love with a bloke! At least he’s not a fag because apparently that’s the worst case scenario here, isn’t it?”

Harry realises, not to any great surprise, that his eyes have filled with tears as well, his throat painfully tight. He tries not to think about this kind of thing for precisely this reason. It makes him so angry and sad about the world and Harry likes to pretend that everything isn’t as fucked up as it is.

“I know it’s bullshit Louis, I know it is, it fucking _sucks_ and I hate it, I hate it so much but there’s nothing we can _do_ about it!” Harry bursts out. His voice shakes and the tears finally spill over onto his cheeks. Harry swipes them away, staring at Louis.

Louis is quiet for a moment, watching him. “I guess I thought I could,” he says softly. “For you, at least. I thought - fuck, Harry, I thought I could shield you from this shit. I really did. I told myself that if I tried hard enough, if I went along with their crap long enough, if I put up with El and controlled myself around you, if I was _straight_ enough, you wouldn’t…” he trails off, wiping furiously at the new tears which have spilled over his cheeks. “I failed,” he surmises eventually, nodding to himself, and his voice thickens as he begins to cry again. “I did everything I could to protect you and I - still - fucking - failed.”

The last words come out as sobs. Louis’ face crumples as he folds into himself, turning his back on Harry and crossing his arms around his chest.

Harry’s heart just _breaks_ , sharp pain shooting through every inch of him. He lunges to wrap his body around Louis from behind, enveloping him tightly. “No no no no,” he pleads. “Oh Louis, baby, please don’t, please don’t think that, don’t cry, sweeatheart,” he doesn’t even know what he’s _saying_. He holds Louis as tightly as he can and presses kisses upon kisses to his head through the beanie, swaying them together. Louis is lax in his arms, weighed down by his own sobs and this is horrible, this is one of the worst moments of Harry’s life.

He turns Louis so he can hold him properly, so Louis can bury his face in Harry’s chest. “I did everything I could,” he keeps saying. “I did, I tried so hard and it still didn’t, it still didn’t work and now you have to go through it all too and I -”

Harry hushes him, murmuring nonsense in a soothing voice and stroking Louis’ back. His eyes are wet, silent tears falling onto Louis’ beanie. Harry aches with it all, with the realisation of how badly this has already hurt them.

It’s day _one_.

 

After a long time Louis’ crying slows down, until he’s curled into Harry’s body, sniffling quietly. Harry decides it’s time he speak up.

“It’s not your job to protect me,” he says, firm despite the shake in his voice.

Louis removes his face from Harry’s chest and shifts back enough to look at him. “Yes it _is_ ,” he argues, wet blue eyes blazing. “I love you and I can’t stand seeing you hurt and if I’d just…if I’d just tried harder maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Louis, it would have happened anyway,” Harry insists softly, brushing Louis’ damp fringe out of his eyes. His face is mottled pink, eyes rimmed in red and puffy from crying. “You think they would have passed up this kind of publicity? They would have made me do it no matter what you did.”

“But if I’d -”

“Stop.”

Louis does, and they’re quiet for a moment as Harry swipes at the tear tracks on Louis’ cheeks with his thumbs. “You have to let me protect you for once, okay?”

Louis opens his mouth to protest but Harry shushes him again. He leans down to rest their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “Please,” he begs. “Please let me pretend I’m doing this for you and not for them.”

After a long time, he feels Louis nod.

 

Harry wishes they were able to sit down and work through this a bit more. He wishes they could talk, or have some time together. He wishes he could do something about the dull gleam of hopelessness that lingers in Louis’ eyes.

As is usually the problem, they don’t have the time. It’s already late morning and they should be at MSG soon to prep for tonight’s concert. The best they can do is dry their eyes, square their shoulders, and put Taylor out of their minds for the time being.

 

 

“ _Madison Square Garden,_ ” Louis keeps saying reverently as they travel to the stadium for rehearsals. “This is going to be legendary.”

His eyes are still red-rimmed and his smile is dimmer than it should be, but nevertheless genuine. Harry reaches across the car seat between them and takes Louis' hand in his own, smiling shakily at him. Louis squeezes his fingers.

Harry is amazed to find that he is able to set aside his worries the moment they step into the stadium. It's _so big_ , definitely one of the biggest venues they've ever played, but it's more than that. It's the name, the history, the reputation of the place that has him sucking in an awed breath as they walk its halls.

Of course they've been here for rehearsals but that was nothing to the knowledge that they're actually going to _play_ this place - in a matter of hours, no less.

They're all a mess of nerves of jumping-out-of-their-skin excitement. Niall spends most of the day running around in circles (quite literally), and Louis keeps jumping on everyone, forcing them to give him piggybacks through the venue’s hallways. The excitement is infectious and all five of them are so hyped up that Harry feels like he doesn't pause for breath all day. Their families add to the excitement as they trickle in and out of rehearsals, wishing them luck.

The crowd starts to pour in a few hours before the show and Harry's nerves ratchet up a few notches, which he didn't think was possible. They've run through the show so many times now, they've had the practice shows in Connecticut too. There's no reason that it won't all go perfectly, but it's just - it's _Madison Square Garden._ It needs to be perfect.

An unfamiliar quiet settles over their dressing room in the fifteen minutes before they're called onstage. Usually their pre-show routine is more of a mess - Lou running around after them double-checking hair and makeup, techs grabbing at their mic packs, random people popping in for last minute photos. This time, the nerves had made everyone hyper-prepared and it's all done, leaving the boys somewhat at a loss. At any other show they'd still be running around, working each other up, keeping their blood hot before they have to perform. Again, today is different.

The five boys have been left alone by their team to gather themselves. Harry's not surprised to note that they've somehow managed to squash themselves all into one couch. He's on the end, stuffed into the corner with Louis on his lap and Zayn pressed against his side. Liam has an arm each around Zayn and Niall's shoulders, with Niall's legs thrown up into Zayn's lap. Their tangle is so familiar to Harry that it helps to quell his nerves.

They don't talk very much, but when they're given their five minute warning Liam takes a deep breath and says, "I still can't bloody believe this is happening."

Harry nods fervently. To think that two years ago they were nothing...it still boggles his mind on a daily basis.

Louis looks down the line of boys before him and smiles softly. "Couldn't have done it with anyone else, lads."

For a moment everyone is silent, smiling soppily at each other. Harry's heart is full of affection for the other four, his best friends - his family. Louis' right, they couldn't have done it any other way and he feels unbelievably lucky that they all found each other.

Niall breaks the moment when he dive-bombs into the centre of the couch. Suddenly it's a pile of limbs as they all try to hug at the same time, laughing at themselves. They emerge, panting and grinning, after a long minute and then hurry to fix their rumpled clothes before Lou finds them.

With two minutes to go, Louis pulls Harry into the corner and tugs him down into a soft kiss. "Don't overthink it, alright? We're gonna be brilliant. _You're_ gonna be brilliant."

Harry nods, stealing another quick kiss before they pull away.

"Oi, how come you guys get good luck kisses?" Niall pouts at them. Louis grins and bounces over to lay a smacking kiss on his mouth, then plants one each on Zayn and Liam for good measure.

"Happy?" he asks, and they all smile back at him. "Let's smash it then."

 

Harry's never done anything like what happens that night. Every part seems better than the last - the crowd, the lights, the music. All he can do is soak it all in, amazed and so, so proud he can barely contain it. He doesn't think any of this could ever feel real, but tonight especially feels like he's literally living the dream, as corny as it sounds.

There's probably a full hour after the show where they just _can't_ come down. The five boys bounce around backstage, yelling, hugging and talking in loud, happy voices. They recount every single second of the amazing show. Friends and families flow in to congratulate them and Harry feels like he's floating, like he's endless, like he could do anything.

Invincible. Harry feels invincible.

 

Sneakily, Harry and Louis get their own car from the venue and shut the barrier between themselves and the driver the moment they're inside. Their crew is used to these kind of antics, and Frank merely rolls his eyes as he disappears out of sight.

Full of adrenaline and endorphins, Harry is literally shaking as he piles himself into Louis' lap and leans down to nuzzle his neck. They'd showered after the show and Louis smells clean and delicious, his hair still damp at the ends. Harry presses wet kisses to his throat, rocking his hips in Louis' lap. Louis is clutching onto him tightly, hands restless on Harry's thighs and then up under his shirt.

"Want you so much," Harry mutters into Louis' ear, heat flowing under his skin everywhere Louis touches. He turns his head to find Louis' mouth and kisses him desperately. Louis' fingers are on his nipples, rubbing and tugging teasingly until Harry is moaning into his mouth.

It's hot and stuffy in the car. Harry is sweating within minutes. He can't seem to stop kissing Louis, rough and wet with his hands twisted in Louis' hair. Harry shifts forward further, pressing Louis down into the seat while Louis spreads his legs and Harry's ass settles perfectly over his cock. Louis is hard against him, thick and hot and he groans when Harry finds a rhythm and starts grinding down on him in slow, sinuous circles.

Louis tips his head back against the seat, panting loudly. He's flushed and heavy-lidded, eyes dark blue and lashes smudged damp with sweat, mouth open on hot little moans. "Yeah babe, you feel so good," he mutters, licking his lips and watching Harry. He's got one hand on Harry's hip, holding him steady as Harry moves on him, and the other splayed possessively on Harry's ass.

Harry's so hard, his cock pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans. He slips his hand down to release himself, wrapping his hand around his shaft immediately and whimpering with relief. Louis' eyes drop to watch and his hand tightens on Harry's hip, urging him to go faster. "Yeah, fuck, get yourself off, I love your hand on your cock, love watching you get off Haz, wanna see you come.”

"Shit," Harry slumps over with his forehead pressed to Louis' neck, stroking his cock rough and fast. Precome beads at the head and Harry whine as it helps slick him up, his strokes smoothing out but no less desperate. He's close, blood thumping in his veins and heart stuttering as he races toward orgasm. Harry grinds harder onto Louis' cock, hips rolling in a rhythm he's losing fast.

Harry comes with a shout, his hips faltering as he shoots over his own hand. It goes on forever, the feeling thrumming up through his entire body until Harry is whimpering, blood pounding in his ears.

Harry has no capacity for much thought beyond getting Louis off as well. He slithers out of Louis' lap and down, wedging himself uncomfortably between the seats of the car, and immediately starts unbuttoning Louis' jeans. Louis is nodding wordlessly, his hand already rough and demanding in Harry's hair as he tries to push his head forward over his lap. Harry gets his jeans open and Louis' cock springs up, hard and flushed red with precome already smeared over the tip. Harry's mouth waters and he sucks Louis down. It's messy and desperate, Louis thrusting artlessly into his mouth and Harry feels spit and precome dripping down his chin as he sucks. It barely takes two minutes for Louis to come, his hand pulling hard on Harry's curls as he fills his mouth. Harry swallows convulsively and then collapses with his head on Louis' thigh, trying to catch his breath.

He zones out for a bit, vaguely aware of Louis petting his hair. The car is still rumbling along beneath his knees and Harry is incredibly uncomfortable. He swears softly and begins to unfold himself, flopping down on the seat beside Louis and turning to look at him.

Louis looks as dazed as Harry feels, his jeans still open and a pink blush still hovering in his cheeks. He smiles faintly at Harry and beckons him forward into a messy kiss. Louis' tongue is wet and smooth as he licks into Harry's mouth, his sharp little teeth nipping at Harry's lips where they're swollen and sensitive.

"You're a mess," Louis whispers fondly when they pull back, and rubs his thumb over Harry's cheek. Harry's face still feels sticky from leftover spit and come. He smiles gratefully as Louis tries to clean him up.

He knows they must be running out of time, that this pocket of safety is about to be burst open by the afterparty and Taylor's presence. Harry leans in and kisses Louis again, his palm curved gently around Louis' neck with his thumb rubbing against his jaw. "I'm so happy that I got to share this with you."

And he is, so lucky that he's been able to share the ridiculous, amazing, unbelievable parts of his life with Louis. So lucky that Louis has been here for every single step. They’ve grown up together, grown into each other more with each passing day. Harry will always be grateful for that, grateful to have seen Louis transform from the sweet pretty boy in the bathroom to the strong, brave man he is today.

He hopes they’ll be lucky enough to share a future together too.

 

 

They have a few minutes at the hotel to clean up and get changed, and then it's straight to the afterparty.

The afterparty is interesting, to say the least. As soon as they arrive Harry and Louis have to go into work mode, which means they have to be careful about how much attention they're paying one another. Louis attaches himself to Liam's side and Harry ends up hovering with Ed for most of the night, trying not to count how many drinks Louis has. (It's a lot.)

Taylor is there too. She comes alone but slots herself in with Harry and Ed immediately, laughing her high tinkling laugh with a dainty hand wrapped around a champagne glass. Harry is drinking enough that he's not that bothered by her presence, too distracted by the music, laughter, and so many people to talk to. But he can feel Louis' eyes on he and Taylor all night.

Ed gets the bright idea to start up with the karaoke and Harry joins in enthusiastically, belting along with Niall and Ed, swaying on his feet. Taylor is off to the side, dancing awkwardly with her drink in her hand, and Harry can still see Louis glaring at her from across the room.

It seems a matter of seconds before Louis is up on the platform with them as well, dancing beside Niall and not-so-subtly pushing Taylor away from Harry. Harry barely represses a snort of laughter as Taylor steps off the stage with a petulant look on her face, and Louis turns to smirk at him. He jumps down too, his job done.

Harry sees Taylor attempt to talk to Louis at some stage in the evening. This is a terrible idea for everyone involved. Harry can only watch, trapped on the other side of the room while Niall gesticulates wildly to him, telling some story. Taylor is smiling, and Louis is most decidedly not. Taylor seems to try harder, her hands moving quickly as she talks. Louis’ body language is stiff, his shoulders tight. Harry can see him tapping his fingers impatiently against his thigh. His eyes aren’t narrowed though, and his mouth is relaxed. That tells Harry that although Taylor will probably find Louis cold and impolite, he’s not being mean.

Taylor seems to realise quickly that Louis isn’t interested in a conversation with her. She excuses herself soon enough, scuttling back to a different group of people nearby. Harry watches as Louis’ shoulders droop, as he draws a deep breath. Louis feels his gaze, looking up to catch Harry’s eye. From across the room, through the bright lights and the pounding music, they have a conversation. Harry raises an eyebrow and nods in Taylor’s direction. _Okay?_ he asks. Louis grimaces and shrugs. _Could be worse_ , he replies. Harry nods, then raises his thumb clearly for Louis to see. _Love you._ Louis half smiles, his own thumb peeking out from around his drink. _I know. You too._

 

The alcohol and party are a sufficient distraction for Harry the rest of the night, but he’s brought sharply back to earth when it’s time to leave. He and Taylor are immediately swamped by PR people who seem to come out of nowhere, coaching them on what is about to happen. Harry’s head swims as he’s told where to look, how to walk, which camera angles they’re going for. He can see Louis across the room, talking too loudly with a beer in his hand. Eleanor and Liam are on either side of him, and they look concerned.

“I need to say goodnight to Louis,” Harry says loudly over the din of people talking. Paula frowns at him. “Harry, you’ve had time to talk to Louis all night. It’s time to go, we have paps waiting.”

“But I -”

Taylor seems impatient. “Can we just go?” she asks, looking bored of the whole thing already. “I’m tired.”

“I -” Harry sighs, still looking across the room at Louis. “Yeah, I guess.”

He allows himself to be ushered to the entrance of the club, where there’s a gaggle of fans and paparazzi waiting. The moment they step out the door the flashes start, and Taylor grabs his hand.

It shouldn’t surprise him at all. This was the plan, it was exactly what they were told to do. And yet Harry hesitates, his hand not automatically entwining with Taylor’s the way it does with Louis. He forces himself to do it, their fingers linking as she tugs him the short distance to the car. Harry keeps his face blank, trying the quell the nausea in his stomach as the cameras flash at him over and over.

Taylor’s hand is different to Louis’. It’s smaller and more feminine, and her fingers are longer, thinner. Her nails are manicured, sharp little points that dig into Harry’s hand. She has softer skin, but it’s not as warm as Louis’ and she doesn’t rub her thumb against the back of Harry’s hand like Louis usually does. They don’t _fit_ , Harry thinks. Not their hands, not the rest of them.

It’s over in seconds, Harry pulling his hand away the moment the cameras have got their fill. He and Taylor clamber into the waiting car and Harry sits in the far seat, feeling woozy. Taylor is giving him a considering sort of look from across the seat. “You’ll have to get used to it, you know. And you can’t pull away from me like that, people will notice.”

Her tone is admonishing, annoyed at Harry for not trying harder. He rubs his jaw uncomfortably, glancing out the window. Honestly he doesn’t care about trying right now. “Sorry,” he says shortly. Taylor doesn’t reply.

They get to her hotel and are ushered inside together. Paul comes too, because he’ll need to help Harry sneak out and get back to his own hotel in an hour when the paps are cleared. Paul gives Harry a sympathetic look as they walk the hallway to Taylor’s room together, and waves goodbye when Harry shuts the door between them.

Taylor’s hotel room is nothing special - the same as the hundreds of others Harry has stayed in over the years. She makes herself comfortable once they get inside, kicking out of her shoes, shrugging her coat off and settling onto the bed. Awkward, Harry hovers near the couch. This part hadn’t been discussed, the strange in-between times when they’re not playing their parts.

“You can sit down, Harry,” Taylor says with a teasing grin, patting the bed beside her. Harry gives her a small smile and settles, leaving a generous space between them. Taylor turns the television on, exclaiming over an episode of a show Harry doesn’t recognise. It’s one of those weirdly involved teen dramas where everyone is insanely over-dramatic about everything. Harry wrinkles his nose and turns to his phone instead. He checks Twitter, gets a look at the insanity in his mentions, cringes, and exits it immediately. It’s still early, too early for him to sneak away and Harry sighs, resigning himself to the hour ahead.

“I don’t think Louis likes me very much,” Taylor says abruptly fifteen minutes later. “He was really rude when I tried to talk to him tonight.”

“Uh,” says Harry. Louis _doesn’t_ like Taylor, not at all, and it’s not something he’s gone to any great effort to hide. Harry knows perfectly well that no matter how nice Taylor is, Louis is not going to like her. He’s come into this situation with his hackles raised, already furious on Harry’s behalf.

“Is he jealous?” Taylor runs her fingers through her hair. “That you get to be seen with me, I mean.”

“He’s more kind of...pissed off about the entire thing, really,” Harry answers lamely. Louis’ feelings on the whole situation are complex; a toxic mixture of jealousy, possessiveness, protectiveness, anger, sympathy and sadness. Harry’s willing to bet there’s a generous dose of self-blame in there too, as he remembers Louis berating himself for not being able to stop the plan. Harry thinks that’s maybe the worst part - he hates when Louis takes on the responsibility for things he can’t control. It just means he gets angry with himself when he inevitably fails. “He doesn’t like lies.”

“Well that’s a bit hypocritical isn’t it?” Taylor asks with a laugh. “Doesn’t he have a fake little girlfriend of his own? Emily or whatever.”

Harry narrows his eyes, not liking her tone. “Eleanor. And he didn’t have a choice. Neither of us did.”

At that, Taylor rolls her eyes. “Right, sure. I know what that feels like. I’m just saying that he doesn’t really have a right to be upset when he’s been doing the exact same thing, you know? You do what you have to do to help your career, that’s it.”

That’s not a sentiment Harry’s ever understood. “Well...but career’s not everything,” he argues quietly. “Especially when it’s harming your personal life.”

Taylor looks at him for a moment. “I don’t get you, you know. You seem to be taking this really hard and it’s like, it’s just business? We’re doing this for work, that’s all it is.”

Harry shakes his head. “What about the lying though? Doesn’t it bother you?”

She shrugs. “They’ll write lies about me no matter what I do. I may as well get some major publicity where I can.”

It’s interesting, when Harry thinks about their totally different approaches to this. Taylor’s all-in. She’ll do anything for her career and she sees their deal as another business transaction. It doesn’t make her heartless; just extremely focused. Harry’s coming it from the other side. Forced into this, with no desire for the publicity, with a relationship to protect, he can’t separate his emotions from it the way that Taylor does.

“I can’t see it like that,” he tells her.

Taylor shrugs. “Either way we’re stuck in this for another three months, you’re going to have to get used to it.” Slightly kinder this time, she adds, “Look. I know you think this is really horrible and your little boyfriend is upset or whatever, but you just have to remember it’s only business. I mean, you see him every day, don’t you? It’s not like you’re really being separated.”

Harry bites back a retort. There’s no point in explaining that this _is_ separation. Being put in interviews together on opposite sides of the room is separation. Not being allowed in public together is separation. She’ll never understand how her presence has hurt Louis, will never understand how hard they’ve been fighting this kind of thing for a very long time. She won’t be able to see that it’s not only her; it’s the buildup of the past two years. She doesn’t know how Harry aches for Louis when they’re in front of the cameras, together but never as they want to be.

He gives up speaking to Taylor after that.

 

When their allotted hour is finally up, Harry mutters a courteous goodbye to Taylor and lets Paul lead him silently out of the hotel and into a waiting car. It’s nearly three am but it’s New York so the streets aren’t empty. Harry rests his head against the cool glass of the window and wonders if Louis managed to enjoy himself at the party after he left.

He texts him but gets no reply, then tries for Liam instead.

_are you still @ the party?_

_abt to leeeeave, it ws so grate ahahhaha_

_where’s louis? he’s not replying to my texts._

_uh he’s kiiind of smashed actually we r trying to get him home soooon_

_is he upset??_

_yeh :((_

“Fuck,” Harry bangs his head on the window. Exactly what he wanted to come home to; a drunk, maudlin boyfriend who needs to be put to bed.

It’s not the post-MSG night he dreamed of.

 

Louis is _wasted_ when Harry finds him in their room later. It’s not the sweet, cuddly drunk he was on Halloween, either - he’s bitter and angry and _sad_ , and it’s heartbreaking for Harry to see. He manages to get Louis undressed and into bed with a minimum of fuss, ignoring Louis’ drunken mutterings. When Louis has passed out, flat on his belly and snoring, Harry can only sigh. He sets his alarm and crawls into bed, knowing it’s nearly pointless because he’s due back at Taylor’s hotel in a matter of hours for his first ‘walk of shame.’

‘Shame’ is right, Harry thinks as he drifts into an uneven sleep. Shame is a great word for what he’ll be feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Taylor continue their act, but Louis isn't coping. Later, Louis and Harry celebrate Louis' birthday in Doncaster.

Early the following morning, after a terrible few hours' sleep, Harry sneaks back into Taylor's hotel in time to be photographed leaving again. He looks appropriately ruffled and bashful as the paps get their precious pictures. The whole thing is over in what feels like minutes.

Another duty checked off the list, Harry swallows down a bit of his lingering disgust and tries to start his day fresh.

 

Louis is just waking up when Harry returns to their room. He looks kind of gross (Louis gets terrible hangovers) and he gives Harry a sheepish smile when he sits up in bed. "Was I really awful last night?" he asks, voice raspy with sleep.

Harry sits down on the corner of the mattress, reaching out to pat Louis' ankle lightly. "Let's just say you weren't holding back, babe."

Louis winces, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Ugh, I'm sorry. I was mad and stupid. I just _hate_ seeing you with her."

"I wasn't having the time of my life either, Lou," Harry replies. He looks down at his hands folded in his lap.

Louis nudges him gently with his foot, toes digging into Harry's thigh. "Yeah? You looked pretty friendly from where I was standing."

Harry makes a face. "Guess I'm a better actor than I thought then. She's - well. I don't know, she's not _terrible_ , she's just not someone I'd choose to be friends with, I guess."

He expects Louis to crow over this - Louis loves feeling vindicated when he dislikes somebody. When Harry looks over though, Louis is only smiling somewhat sadly at him. "It takes a lot for you to dislike someone, H."

That's true. Harry usually goes to every effort to be friends with people, to get along. Maybe he's just responding to the entire situation, or maybe he's being too influenced by Louis' feelings about her, but Harry hasn't really found a reason to like Taylor yet.

"She keeps trying to ask me about you," Harry admits. He wraps his hand around Louis' slim ankle, squeezing. "I don't like it."

Louis' smile widens slightly, his eyes soft as he gazes at Harry. "Trying to protect me?"

Harry smiles back, thumb rubbing over Louis' ankle bone. "Trying to keep you all to myself, more like."

"I'm okay with that." Louis' head tilts in a _come here_ gesture and Harry grins goofily at him, crawling up the bed to lay on his side next to Louis. He props himself up on one elbow and leans over to press his mouth to the spot under Louis' jaw. It's rough with stubble and Louis' eyes are puffy, his hair a fluffy mess. Louis looks him over and his hand comes up to thumb at Harry's cheek. "You look tired, pet."

Harry closes his eyes, tilting his head into Louis' touch. "Didn't get a lot of sleep, with all the sneaking around."

"Right," Louis' mouth tightens but he doesn't comment further. He traces the lines of Harry's face with his fingertips, running them over Harry's cheekbones, his nose, the shape of his lips and his dimples when Harry smiles. "Love you," Louis murmurs unnecessarily.

Harry hums an agreement and rolls closer so their bodies are plastered together. His palm spreads over Louis' chest, immediately finding the slow thump of his heartbeat. He tilts to nudge his face into Louis' neck, pressing a kiss to his skin. Louis' hand covers Harry’s on his chest and his other arm slides around Harry's back, holding him close as he presses his nose into Harry's hair. They don’t move for a long time.

[](http://s24.photobucket.com/user/Dot1234/media/4_zps182e1b6b.jpg.html)

 

They have the Bring Me To 1D event that morning and for the first time in days Harry feels like he and Louis are being themselves. Louis keeps close throughout the morning, closer than he usually allows himself. Harry soaks up the attention happily. He can't seem to keep his eyes off Louis during the Q&A, his mouth pulling into involuntary smiles every time Louis glances at him.

Louis is sweet with him after, leaning in close to joke and whisper as they make the drive back to the hotel. Harry feels the way his whole body curves toward Louis, like he could soak in every bit of his warmth and light just by being close enough - like a flower with its face turned up to find the sun. Louis' hand rests on his thigh the entire trip, his voice warm in Harry's ear and his attention focused solely on Harry.

 

That evening, Harry gets his picture taken as he walks into Taylor's hotel again. It’s not quite as awkward as the night before, mostly because Harry is in a better mood this time. He and Taylor chat amicably while that teen show she likes plays in the background. After an hour or two, Harry gets the all-clear from Paul and picks up his jacket.

“I’ll see you in the morning, I guess,” he says to Taylor as he stands.

“You know you could just stay here,” Taylor remarks. “I mean there’s an extra bed and all. Or you could just get another room, I’m sure they’ve got something.”

“Oh,” Harry looks up. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I mean, Louis’ there, so...”

“Right, can’t keep the boyfriend waiting.” Taylor gives him that sweet smile again, the one that Harry is starting to suspect is a little contrived. “I just thought it’d be easier for you to stay here if you have to be leaving in the morning, you know? Less risky for both of us, too.”

“I know.” Harry agrees, but stops himself before adding anything else. He doesn’t want to explain to Taylor how much he needs the few hours alone with Louis. He doesn’t want to tell her that they don’t sleep well apart, that Louis needs this just as much as he does. It’s still not her business, even if she seems to want it that way. “Anyway, have a good night.”

Taylor seems mildly taken aback at his abruptness, but she waves goodnight all the same. Harry lets the door click shut behind him.

 

 

It’s late when Harry returns to his own hotel but Louis is wide awake. He’s feeling mischievous and he suggests one of their favourite games - screwing with room service. This consists of daring each other to order increasingly ridiculous things from the kitchen just to see if they'll ever be refused. Usually they aren't, but the best part is watching each other eat the insane concoctions.

Harry forces down an anchovy milkshake and then nearly snorts it back up his nose in laughter as Louis digs into steak with strawberry and passionfruit coulis poured over the top. The faces Louis makes as he eats are so cute, his nose wrinkled up like a little kid, and Harry coos over him which just makes Louis pout. Things devolve into a food fight soon after and Harry finds himself gasping for breath, strawberry syrup stuck to his cheek as Louis tickles him mercilessly.

"I give, oh my god," Harry gasps, writhing away from Louis' clever little fingers on his ribs. "You demon."

Louis just grins at him, perched on Harry's lap with a passionfruit seed stuck to his chin. Harry pulls him down by the back of his neck and nudges his lips open with his tongue while Louis makes a happy humming noise and twists his sticky fingers in Harry's hair. They kiss lazily and their clothes come off minutes later.

There's nothing easier than this. There's nothing more familiar than Louis' body above Harry, than his hands on Harry's skin. They're always in sync with each other but Harry seems to feel it doubly when they have sex. They just know each others' bodies so well, know the spots that make each other gasp and whine and tremble, the ticklish bits and the scars, the places that carry memories.

Louis fucks him slow and thorough, holding himself above Harry with his hands tight around Harry's hips and his eyes locked with Harry's. Harry feels his gaze like a caress and it makes him warm all over, intensifies every movement. After a while Harry just has to close his eyes and feel it, feel the drag of Louis' thick cock inside him and the shape of his hands around Harry's hips, thumbs digging in sharply against bone.

When Louis is close he folds his body over Harry's, mouthing clumsily at his collarbones as his thrusts turn rough and uneven. He comes with his teeth sunk sharply into Harry's skin, leaving red marks over the bird tattooed on Harry's chest. That, coupled with Louis' hand stroking him off, has Harry coming all over his belly a few moments later.

They fall asleep wrapped up together, but it feels like seconds before Harry’s phone alarm is going off. He squints against the bright light, fumbling to turn it off as Louis groans beside him. It’s 6am.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Louis grumbles, allowing Harry to untangle their bodies and climb off the bed. He mashes his face into the pillow, eyes closing again. Harry forces his sleep-clumsy limbs into jeans and a shirt, stuffs his phone into his pocket.

“See you later,” he whispers, but it’s useless. Louis is asleep.

 

At Taylor’s hotel, Harry has breakfast with Paul as they wait for the required paparazzi to assemble outside. Once everything is set up, he allows himself to be pushed into the madness of snapping cameras and shouts.

It’s only a minute or two of pandemonium before he’s safely in the car, but Harry’s heart pounds all the same. He presses his hand to his chest, accidentally pushing against the teethmarks Louis left on his birds last night. The reminder steadies him, makes him feel a little better about the doubtless hundreds of photos that are now circulating of him leaving Taylor’s hotel.

They’re having too much fun filming the One Way or Another clip that day to even think about Taylor. She spends the night at home in Nashville anyway, and Harry enjoys the uninterrupted sleep in his own hotel.

On Thursday, Louis spends the morning with Zayn and comes home with two new tattoos - a camera on his forearm and a heart on his shoulder. He shrugs when Harry asks their meaning. “It's kind of...the two sides of what we're doing, you know?" he replies. "The heart because of the music and how much I love singing and performing with the lads. The camera...I don't know, I guess I just kept thinking about how fake things can be and how people will believe anything they see just because it's the right camera angle or whatever. I hate those parts, the 'celebrity' part of what we do, the headlines and the bullshit they spread.”

Harry can only nod as he traces his fingertips around the edges of the tattoos, the new ink which represents the music Louis loves - and the celebrity that he hates.

 

After an afternoon of rehearsals and their Letterman taping, Harry and Louis spend the evening in Niall’s room playing video games. Harry is relieved to see Louis happy today; bouncy and bright as he should be. They haven’t had much of a chance to check in with each other since all this started, and Harry’s been trying to figure out how Louis is feeling. At times he’s perfectly fine, but at others he seems to sink into himself, his smiles slipping away with an odd, deadened look in his eyes. The precious time they have alone hasn’t allowed for deep conversation; Louis seems determined to make the best of it and avoids Harry’s attempts at meaningful talk.

They say goodnight to Niall around ten and head to their own room, where Louis immediately busies himself making tea. Harry crowds up against his back, hands resting loosely on Louis’ hips. “Hey.”

He hears the smile in Louis’ voice. “Hi.”

“You okay?”

“Great, babe. You saw how I thrashed Niall in that last game, right? Couldn’t believe -”

“Lou,” Harry interrupts. “I mean, you know. With this week. Taylor, and all that. We haven’t really talked about it yet.”

Louis stiffens, his hands pausing on the box of teabags. “You mean aside from the part where I yelled at you and then cried?” he asks, voice falsely casual.

“Yeah,” Harry slips his thumbs up under Louis’ shirt, rubbing his hips gently. He wishes he could find Louis’ key tattoo but it’s too far down, hidden under his jeans. “Aside from that.”

Louis ducks his head, looking intensely interested in the tea. “I’ve got nothing new to say, Harry.”

“C’mon,” Harry coaxes. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.” Louis’ voice is clipped and he steps out of Harry’s hold, picking up one of the cups of tea. He settles himself on the couch and pulls out his phone, making every effort to avoid Harry’s question. “Would you look at that, you and Taylor are the top story on Perez Hilton today. Did you know you’re head over heels for her?” Louis adds bitterly, glaring down at the phone.

Harry huffs an annoyed breath, falling onto the opposite end of the couch. “I hate when you read that shit.”

“Gotta keep up with all the fresh lies, don’t we?” Louis tosses his phone onto the table, jaw clenched. His good mood from earlier seems to have disappeared entirely.

Harry suppresses a sigh. He knows Louis better than anyone, is used to dealing with Louis’ many complexities and defense mechanisms, but sometimes they exhaust him. He wishes Louis would just admit when he’s upset; let Harry comfort him, instead of hiding behind bitter comments and rolled eyes. It’s so frustrating for Harry to watch him and know he’s hurting but won’t let anyone try to fix it.

Louis is quiet and prickly for the rest of the evening, clicking away at his phone instead of talking to Harry. Harry doesn’t bother to push him; he’s sure it will end with them arguing and he doesn’t have the energy for it tonight. Louis will talk when he’s ready and not a second before.

But he’s not okay, and Harry knows it. Neither of them are; Harry feels more pressure than ever. There’s a constant, stinging ache in his chest at the thought of his newly-reinforced womaniser image. He knows how many people out there hate him for it. He’s seen the millions of tweets, calling him a slut, a manwhore, telling him to kill himself. As much as he wishes he could ignore it, he’s never been able to. It seems that no matter what he does, the press is going to continue painting him that way, and his recent walks of shame haven’t helped one bit. Harry feels like he’s spent the first few days of ‘Haylor’ in a kind of confused daze, unsure of how to process or react to any of it.

Harry and Louis don’t speak much when they go to bed, and even less when Harry’s alarm goes off at 5am. All he gets out of Louis then is an angry grunt as he fumbles to make the noise stop.

 

Harry goes to Taylor’s hotel and gets his pictures taken, then heads to Sirius FM to meet the boys for a private show. He’s exhausted and unfocused the whole time, zoning out and back in again to give a weak smile to fans or sing his solos. Across the room, Louis looks just as bad. Harry knows he mustn’t have slept well last night, maybe didn’t even go back to sleep after Harry woke him. The poor rest is showing on both their faces, leaving them pale and baggy-eyed.

It’s a tense, difficult day. Harry knows he needs to make it up with Louis somehow, but he can’t find the time to get Louis alone. At any rate, Louis doesn’t seem at all interested in interacting with Harry. He sticks with Liam instead, not letting Harry get close enough to talk. Liam keeps sending Harry helpless, apologetic looks. In the end Harry decides that if Louis is going to be such a brat about it, he doesn’t want to make up with him that badly anyway.

Unsurprisingly, they’re split up before they take to the red carpet at Jingle Ball New York. Harry ends up with Liam, fielding awkward Taylor questions as best he can. He hopes Louis’ doing better on the other end of the carpet, but one glance at his tired, blank expression tells Harry otherwise.

“You need to talk to him,” Zayn hisses as they’re ushered off the carpet and backstage, Louis dropping back to walk with the other two. “He’s falling apart, Harry.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Harry snaps, uncharacteristically harsh. Zayn looks taken aback and Harry sighs, lowering his voice. “I’ve been _trying_ to talk to him, he doesn’t want to. He just wants to wallow in his own misery and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well you better find a way,” Zayn presses. “You should have seen him in that interview just now. He basically said that you and Taylor weren’t even friends, and he didn’t even try to act like he liked her.”

“What?” Harry stops, surprised. Louis is usually a very good actor. Harry knows he should be angry at Louis for undermining everything he’s been doing with Taylor the past few days. Instead all he feels is concern; if Louis is letting his control slip so badly in public, he’s even more fed up than Harry thought.

Zayn nods. “And you both look awful, are you sleeping at all?”

“It’s a bit difficult when I’m sneaking in and out of the hotel at all hours. It wakes him up and I don’t think he goes back to sleep once I’m gone.”

Having navigated the corridors to find their dressing room, Harry and Zayn slip inside. Zayn is frowning. “Well I dunno, H. But you should really try to fix it before we go home.”

Louis, Niall and Liam enter the room. Harry glances at Louis, who ducks his head and avoids Harry’s eyes. Harry sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

 

As usual, they put everything else aside before they perform, and everything at the show runs smoothly. However, Harry and Louis still haven’t resolved anything by the time they’re all headed to the airport.

Harry is expected to travel with Taylor on her private jet, leaving the other boys to fly separately. He tries to talk to Louis again before they leave, desperate to not leave things so tense between them.

“Hey, are we going to talk at all before we go?”

They’re in the middle of passing through security and passport control, the perfect time to catch Louis’ attention while everyone else is occupied. Louis doesn’t look up from where he’s rifling through his bag but Harry knows he’s listening. “I don’t want to get on a flight while we’re fighting.”

“We’re not fighting,” Louis replies irritably. “Fuck, where the fuck is my fucking passport?”

“It’s in the inside pocket with your Ipad, where you always keep it,” Harry says softly. “If we’re not fighting what is this?”

“It’s nothing.” Louis finds his passport, exactly where Harry said it would be. He flicks messy hair out of his face, looking up at Harry with tired, dull eyes. “It’s...it’s me not wanting to dwell on shit and you pushing me to.”

“I’m not _pushing_ anything!” Harry runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “Louis, literally all I did was ask if you were okay, which you’re clearly not, so fucking forgive me for trying to help.”

Louis blinks at him, hurt flashing over his pale face. “So maybe stop trying to help.”

“Fine.” Harry steps away and Louis looks surprised at how easily he’s given up. He was expecting Harry to fight harder, probably, but Harry is too tired for this right now. “I’ll see you when we get home then.”

“Fine.” Paul is at Louis’ elbow now, tugging him gently toward their gate while Andy gestures at Harry to get moving in the opposite direction. “Have fun with your girlfriend.” Louis adds spitefully, apparently determined to get the last word. Harry flinches.

It’s the first time they’ve been separated without exchanging a proper goodbye. The thought stings Harry, bores a painful hole in his chest which deepens the more he thinks on it. He hates leaving things so unsettled, hates that Louis feels so far away from him.

 

“What’s the matter?” Taylor asks as soon as the jet is in the air.

“Nothing,” Harry sulks, curling up in his cushy seat. He untangles his headphones and scrolls toward his ‘sad angry songs’ playlist. Maybe he’ll be able to sleep the whole flight.

“Oh come on,” Taylor tucks her knees under herself, pulling a blanket over her lap. She turns inquisitive, bright eyes on Harry. “Have a fight with your other half?”

Harry doesn’t reply, but Taylor takes that as confirmation. “You did? What was it this time? He’s a bit of a drama queen.”

“Don’t,” Harry sighs, looking up from his Ipod. “It’s not like that.”

“Well tell me what it’s like,” she’s being all sweet again, bubbly as she adds, “All my gay friends say I’m like, the best therapist ever for this stuff, I swear I can help.”

Harry decides to let this comment slide, but he’s hesitant to volunteer any further information. He doesn’t want to discuss his relationship troubles with anyone right now, let alone Taylor. He wants to wallow and maybe sleep if he can manage it.

To Taylor’s credit, she does seem to genuinely care. Her expression is patient and interested, encouraging Harry to speak up. “Harry, honestly. My life is going to be much easier in the next three months if you’re happy, and you don’t seem to be happy unless he is, so...”

“I know,” Harry agrees grudgingly. “I just don’t think there’s anything you can do, you know? He’s upset and he needs time. If we had a couple of days at home together I could cheer him up properly, but we don’t have the time. I just have to wait for him to work through it himself.”

“I still don’t get why he’s making such a big deal,” Taylor says with a shrug. “He’s seeing his own girl this week too and I don’t see you collapsing in a heap because of it. Maybe he needs to man up a bit.”

“I’ve had time to get used to it,” Harry responds, biting back a harsher retort about Louis’ masculinity being entirely adequate, thank you very much. “It used to hurt a lot more than it does now.”

(Not that it doesn’t still sting to see them holding hands, he thinks with a mournful glance out the window.)

“Maybe you shouldn’t let it get to you both so much,” Taylor suggests, not unkindly.

Harry’s hands curl into frustrated fists. “It’s not that easy.”

He wishes he could make her understand but he can’t. He doesn’t want to talk to her about Louis anyway, not the good stuff and definitely not the bad stuff, which, he thinks bitterly, she is the cause of.

And that’s not fair, he know it’s not. He knows this isn’t her fault, knows she’s just trying to make the best of a shitty situation. But Taylor doesn’t have a relationship on the line here, and a niggling voice in Harry’s head reminds him that she could have said no to this.

As much as he tries to broadcast that he’s not interested in the conversation, Taylor continues to try to counsel him about Louis for most of the flight. Far from helping, all she really manages to do is solidify his growing dislike for her. Her invasiveness drives him mad, as does her cloying sweetness. Once they hit the 6th hour of the flight, Harry is faking sleep just to get some quiet time.

 

By the time they’re touching down in London, Harry is more annoyed with Taylor than he ever was with Louis. They say goodbye discreetly at the airport. Taylor then heads off to a hotel while Harry is escorted to a car which will take him home.

The other boys’ flight had landed an hour earlier than the jet. Judging from Liam, Zayn and Niall’s texts, the reception at the airport was even more insane than what they’re used to.

_Niall pretty much had a panic attack,_ writes Liam, and Harry can practically hear his worried tone seeping through the words.

_It was fucking crazy,_ Zayn adds.

Niall, as usual, is trying to see the bright side. _What a welcome,_ he writes. Harry think it’s a bit of a feeble attempt at cheerfulness.

Louis sends nothing.

That makes it over ten hours since they’ve been in contact, an unusual and unsettling occurrence for them. Hurt by Louis’ silence, Harry resists asking the other boys about him.

He heads home instead, not even sure whether Louis will be there. They have Jingle Ball again tonight; Louis might choose to spend the intervening hours somewhere else.

 

As they drive through familiar London streets, Harry broods about this fight they've gotten themselves into. Harry doesn’t hold grudges. He’ll sulk or wallow, sure. But after that he doesn’t see the point in dragging out unpleasant arguments or silences. He’d always rather get everything out in the open and move on.

Louis is more likely to cling to hurt and anger. He wraps it around himself like a cloak, almost seems to revel in it. It’s one of those things that they’ve had to deal with in their relationship. On the rare occasions that they fight, their attitudes toward resolution are completely different. Where Louis prefers to hold onto his anger and refuses to talk anything out, Harry will want to discuss and resolve things quickly. He feels like half the time Louis is just protecting himself; if they don’t talk about the problem, he doesn’t have to face it.

When Harry pushes open to front door to their house, it’s obvious that Louis is home. His bags are there, dumped carelessly in the hallway. His jacket is crumpled on the stairs. Harry tuts quietly and picks it up, folding it over his arm. “Lou?” he calls. “Are you home?”

No answer. He finally finds Louis in the bedroom, a sight that makes Harry’s heart clench.

Louis is asleep, curled up in a tiny ball in the middle of their bed. He’s wrapped, for some reason, around that enormous stuffed lion he’d bought in New York, clutching it tightly. Harry feels his throat constrict painfully at how small Louis looks. As he approaches the bed, things look even worse. Louis is a mess. His hair is greasy, falling out of a half-hearted quiff to hang lifelessly over his eyes. His skin is pale and unless Harry’s very much mistaken, there are tear-tracks on his cheeks.

“Baby,” Harry murmurs sadly. He toes his shoes off and climbs onto the bed, sitting as close as he can to Louis without scaring him awake. He begins to prise Louis’ fingers away from the lion toy. Louis stirs just as Harry is pulling the lion out of his grip, and he blinks at him with glazed eyes for a long moment. He looks completely out of it, disoriented. His eyes are swollen and red. There’s a faint whiff of alcohol on his breath and Harry’s worry increases.

“Haz?”

“Hi, Lou.”

“What -?” Louis’ eyebrows furrow and he struggles to sit up, his movements wobbly. He wipes frantically at his cheeks, trying to remove the remnants of tears. “I thought you’d stay with Taylor until the Ball.”

“I left her at the hotel,” Harry explains simply. “I wanted to come home.”

Louis stares at him for a moment, still blinking sluggishly. Harry reaches out to thumb at his cheek. “Hey. What is this?”

Pulling away, Louis shakes his head roughly. “I’m -”

“If you say ‘fine’ I’m going to scream.”

Louis hesitates again, searching Harry’s face. Harry stares back, trying to project patience and understanding. Whatever Louis finds, it seems to be enough. He sighs and sits up further, crossing his legs in front of him and folding his hands in his lap. “Okay, okay. I’m not fine. I’m -” he looks down at his hands, lips curving in a bitter smile. “I’m a fucking mess.”

He looks so fragile, tiny and exhausted with his slim shoulders hunched. Harry feels a fierce need to protect him, to shield him from anything that could possibly bring him pain. He knows that’s impossible. Instead he takes Louis’ hand between his own and squeezes it tightly. “But _why_?” he presses. “Is it just the Taylor thing, or...?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s everything.” Louis runs his spare hand through his dirty hair, making it even worse. “I don’t know what I’m _doing,_ ” he admits brokenly. “I don’t know how to see you with her and not want to cry, I don’t know how to sleep when you’re not there. I don’t know how to deal with the questions about her and I don’t know how to pretend I’m okay. I read the shit they say about you in the papers and I want to go rip someone’s throat out. I look at Taylor and I know it’s not her fault but I hate her anyway, I fucking _hate_ her because she gets to say she’s yours. I don’t know how to...” he trails off and looks up at Harry. “How do you do it? With me and El. I always knew it was hard on you but I never imagined this. How do you do it, Haz?”

Harry looks down at their hands for a long moment, Louis’ still sandwiched between his own. He rubs his thumb slowly over the back of Louis’ hand, taking a moment before he answers. “I guess,” he starts. “I guess I just had to get used to it. Like an old injury or something. It hurts like hell when it starts but after a bit it fades to an ache instead. And it’s always there? But it becomes part of you because there’s nothing you can do to make it go away. Sometimes you don’t even notice it.”

“Until someone pokes it.” There’s understanding in Louis’ eyes and Harry knows he’s thinking of those times, when he has no choice but see Louis and El together.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “That’s when it hurts the most, I guess. Because I’m used to the achey part but it’s so much sharper when it comes out of nowhere.”

“So that’s your advice?” Louis questions, a light teasing tone to his voice.“Get used to it, because it’s going to suck no matter what? That’s not very cheering, is it?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m not done yet, idiot.”

He sits back, leaning against the headboard, and gathers Louis close until Louis is curled in his lap. His head rests against Harry’s shoulder, knees tucked up toward his chest. Harry’s hand wraps around his back, holding him tightly as he presses a kiss to Louis’ hair. As much as he’s wanted to comfort Louis since the moment he walked into the room, the move is nowhere near selfless. Harry feels a wave of relief at finally being able to hold him. It’s like his heart had been beating out of time while they were apart, and it’s finally found its rhythm.

“I think the most important part is remembering that I love you and it’s worth it,” he muses softly. Harry allows their hands to tangle together again, resting against Louis’ knee. “I try to imagine what would happen if I gave up on us, what my life would be like without you, and I can’t. I literally can’t imagine not being with you.”

Louis nods and presses his face into Harry’s neck. He’s clingy; needy in a way Harry hasn’t seen him in a long time. As much as Harry hates the reasons behind it, he can’t help but like an excuse to coddle Louis. He murmurs a soft noise and kisses Louis’ forehead, then draws their joined hands up to his chest. “These help,” he says, touching at the wings of his bird tattoos.

Louis looks up. “Your tattoos?”

“Yeah. Because they’re always there and they always remind me of you. Especially the birds, because it makes me think of flying, and finding my way back to you no matter what.”

“Oh.” Louis’ thumb rubs absent-mindedly over the wing of one of Harry’s birds. “I think maybe I’d like something like that.”

“You have a couple already,” Harry reminds him gently, thinking of Louis’ ‘oops’ and the key on his hip.

“I know,” Louis agrees. “I think maybe I’d like something new though? Something to remind me that you’re always coming home, too.”

“Alright.” Harry thinks it over, thinks about travel and distance, about being far away, about the idea of ‘home.’

Harry always thought that 'home' meant the house in Cheshire with his mother and sister, his childhood bedroom with the old posters on the walls. Up until 2011, he'd never experienced anything else. Then he and Louis got their own flat, and that was new and wonderful and so exciting, and Harry thought that that must be his home now.

Except they didn't spend much time in the flat, in the end. There were tour buses and hotel rooms, endless goddamn hotel rooms with the same beds and the same bathrooms and the same coffee tables. Harry didn't want to think of those places as home, but they spent so much time there that it must have been - for a time.

In May of this year, he and Louis started talking about buying a house together. It was a big step, more permanent than anything they had thought about before, but it felt right. They shopped around for a couple of months, put their flat on the market and finally found a house in July, just after the US tour had ended. It's enormous, three stories high with a pool, basement and huge yard. They'd chosen it not for its size but its seclusion - at least a half hour's drive outside of London proper, in a quiet street surrounded by fields and woods. Harry had known the moment he set foot inside that it was going to be theirs, and the way Louis had squeezed his hand had told him that he agreed.

More than any other place, this house feels like home to Harry. It's their safe place, their refuge. Hardly anyone knows they live here; it's too precious to them to go blabbing about it. Most people they know still think the house is just Louis' and that Harry is living in an empty house in Primrose Hill, near Nick. He goes back there every once in a while to visit but this, this big house with its arched windows and its tree-lined yard - this is where he really belongs.

The thing is, Harry thinks, that it's not the windows or the trees or the pool that make the new house home. It's Louis.

Louis, grumpy in the mornings with his hair a mess as he whines for tea and breakfast. Louis, bright and shining as he thrashes Harry in air-hockey in the games room. Louis, curled up quiet and sleepy against Harry's chest as they watch a film together late into the night. Louis, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs and one of Harry's shirts, the hem falling over his thighs as he grins and dances teasingly away from Harry's reaching hands. Louis, pressing Harry into the edge of the pool and licking water droplets off his collarbones.

It's Louis who is his home, whether it's in this house or in a hotel room on the other side of the world or on a tour bus or on the stage. Louis is the only thing that stays the same, the only person who can give Harry that feeling of happiness and safety and peace that comes from going home.

Louis wants a tattoo to show that Harry will always come home, but Harry needs him to realise that Louis _is_ home. He’s always going to be Harry’s destination, his journey’s end.

Louis is the landing place, he is the target, he is the thing pulling Harry toward him with irresistible force. They’ve always been like magnets being tugged toward one another. If Harry’s heart had a compass, the needle would be permanently pointed at Louis.

“Get a compass,” Harry speaks after long moments of silence. “For your tattoo, Louis. Get a compass.”

“A compass?” Louis looks up at him. As ever, they’re on the same wavelength and he catches on quickly. His lips spread into a soft smile and he touches Harry’s bird tattoos again. “Always finding your way home, huh?”

“To you, yeah.”

Louis nods, and for the first time in days there’s a spark of life in his eyes. “I love it. Then I can remember you’ll come back to me, you know? Because you’ve got me guiding you.”

Harry leans in and kisses him, close-lipped and tender. “I want something to match.”

“The birds aren’t enough?” Louis questions.

Harry shakes his head. “Birds find their own way, they’ve got like, internal GPS and whatnot. I want something that needs a compass, something that’ll match up with the compass really well.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, then: “A ship. You can have a ship, and it’ll be like you’re one of those old-school sailors, you know? Always travelling but you always know where home is.”

“Where the heart is,” Harry quips, and Louis laughs.

He tugs on Harry’s arm, pushing up his sleeve to expose his left bicep. He touches Harry’s clumsily-inked ‘home-made’ tattoo. “Get it here.”

Harry looks down at the place Louis is pointing. “I think that’s perfect.”

 

As ever, they’re low on time. In a matter of hours they’ll need to be primped and perfect for Jingle Ball, and all Harry wants to do is sleep.

Instead, he pulls away from Louis with a sigh. “Babe, we need to get ready for the show.”

Louis swears, groans, and stands. He sways very slightly on his feet; Harry sincerely hopes it’s from exhaustion and not any lingering alcohol. “C’mon,” he says quietly, and leads the way into the bathroom.

The shower is big enough for both of them but Harry doesn’t want to waste time drying his hair after. Instead he lets Louis climb in alone while he washes his face at the sink.

“Haz?” Louis’ voice is quiet behind the fall of the water.

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry. For being a dick yesterday. And this week, I guess.”

Harry nods. He’s quite sure that he’s only getting the apology now because Louis doesn’t have to look him in the eye like this.

Hesitant and awkward, Louis continues. “Like I said, I don’t know what I’m doing, and I freaked. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Harry stares at himself in the mirror. He looks pale and tired. “I forgive you,” he tells his reflection. “And I get it, but it was still really shitty, Lou.”

Silence for a long moment, the only sound in the room the rush of water hitting tile. “I know.”

“You can’t just...” Harry sighs. “You can’t keep this shit from me, Louis. You can’t lie to me and say you’re fine, and then yell at me when I call you on it. I _hate_ that you got on that plane while we were fighting, and I hate that you don’t trust me enough to just let me know when you’re upset.”

The shower turns off abruptly and Louis emerges, looking stricken. He wraps a towel hastily around his waist and approaches Harry urgently. “Harry, I trust you! I always trust you.”

“Then be honest with me,” Harry presses earnestly. He rests his hands on Louis’ damp waist, squeezing gently. “Look. I know you’re like, allergic to admitting when you’re hurt. I know it’s hard for you, but you may have noticed that when you tell me how you feel, I can actually _do something about it_.”

“I know,” Louis admits with a nod. He looks embarrassed. “I do know that, I’m just...stupid and stubborn and emotionally stunted, or something.”

He’s not, not really. The thing about Louis is that all he ever wants to do is _care_ \- for his mother, for his sisters, his bandmates, Harry. He’s had to be the strong one for so many people, the one who ignored it when he was sad or upset because it got in the way of taking care of those he loved. Harry noticed a long time ago that Louis has a tendency to push him away when he’s upset; it’s his twisted way of protecting Harry.

Because even though Louis knows he’s an adult, even though they’re equals in this relationship, Harry knows that Louis sometimes still sees Harry as his baby. He still wants to protect Harry, shield him; he sees sharing his problems with Harry as just adding to Harry’s worries.

All Harry can really do about it is continue to prove that Louis can trust him.

“You’re not emotionally stunted,” Harry says with a laugh. He pulls Louis into a hug, ignoring the way Louis’ wet skin soaks his shirt. “But you do need to tell me the truth. Everything goes better that way.”

“Okay,” Louis mutters into his chest. “I’ll try.”

 

They perform at the X Factor finale in Manchester the next night. Even though Eleanor and Taylor are both there, Harry and Louis are on their way back to their usual selves. They say goodbye in the morning, and Harry heads home to Cheshire with Taylor in tow.

One of the stipulations of their contract was that Taylor and Harry would be seen interacting with each others' families at some point. It's supposed to make everything look more authentic, make it look like they're so smitten they can't bear to be apart. The reality is that having Taylor in the same room with Harry's mum, stepfather and sister is one of the most awkward experiences of his life. Like Harry, they're the kind of people to give everyone a chance, but they also feel a strong loyalty to Louis and it shows.

It's only a few days in Cheshire with Taylor and Harry's family, but it feels like a lifetime. Everybody fills the silences with meaningless conversation, and although it's all perfectly friendly, Harry thinks Taylor knows she's not very welcome there. To be honest he does feel a bit sorry for her then. She had agreed to this, yes, but that doesn't make it any easier and even if Harry doesn't like her much he isn't enjoying seeing her miserable.

As for himself, Harry is coping. It's nice to be with his family, at the very least. He misses Louis, who he hasn't seen in a couple of days since they finished at X Factor. Louis is home alone in London, texting Harry constantly to complain about how empty the house feels.

Harry has a little ray of light in the back of his mind, though, a bloom of hope. It's Louis' birthday in a matter of weeks and Harry has stubbornly clung to his plan to throw him a private party. It's booked for the day after tomorrow, and to say Harry is looking forward to it is an understatement.

He's been planning it in fits and starts for weeks now. First he tracked down the venue, a lovely hotel in Doncaster. Then the food had to be planned, and the music, the guests. Harry has had a lot of help from Jay, the pair of them texting every day since Harry told her what he wanted to do. It's been a joint effort between them but Harry's had the final say on most of it. It's Louis' 21st, and it has to be perfect.

It's not a surprise party, Harry had wanted Louis to know so that he had something to look forward to as well. He's been bugging Harry for weeks trying to pry details out of him, but Harry has held firm. He wants Louis to have an amazing time without worrying about anything.

Making sure that all the party plans are running smoothly is what Harry distracts himself with while Taylor is staying with his family. They only need to be seen out once a day, where the cameras can find them. The rest of the time, Harry and Taylor tend to avoid one another. Taylor Skypes with her friends and family back in the US, or works on songs in the guest room where she’s staying. Harry takes advantage of the time with his family.

Taylor’s birthday comes up on December 13th; a day Harry has been dreading. He feels terrible for her; nobody should have to spend their birthday so far away from family and friends.

Anne, Robin and Gemma all make a fuss to cover up the awkwardness. Anne cooks a big breakfast while Gemma makes conversation with Taylor about her plans for Christmas. Harry busies himself helping his mother. His mind is at home in London, where Louis is probably still sound asleep. He’d decorated their Christmas trees yesterday, sent Harry pictures of them taking over the living room and foyer. (Harry had then had the unique pleasure of seeing Eleanor tweet the pictures too, since Louis was told to pass them on.) Harry’s excited to go home and see them, to add his own touches to the decorations. They already know that Christmas and Louis’ birthday are going to be a bit tricky, but Harry and Louis are doing their best to find at least a day together in the midst of it all.

“Taylor, how do you have your eggs?” Anne asks from the stove, and Taylor looks up.

“Oh,” she says hesitantly. “Actually I don’t really eat eggs? I’m so sorry.”

“No no,” Anne seems stumped. “Would you like some toast then? Cereal? Fruit?”

“Just cereal is fine, thank you.” Taylor says politely. She hasn’t touched the coffee or tea which has been set out for everybody.

Harry can’t help but cringe at how overly polite everyone is being. It had happened last night too, when Taylor and Gemma had each insisted that the other take the last dinner roll. It’s so obvious that Taylor is a guest here, and not necessarily a very welcome one. It makes Harry feel strange in his own home, worried that someone is going to say or do the wrong thing. He wishes everyone could just relax, but Taylor’s presence makes it impossible.

Later, Harry drives to pick up the cupcakes which someone on his team had ordered for Taylor. It’s all very silly and over-publicised, like everything else to do with this relationship. Taylor likes the cakes though, and their lunch together with the family is actually quite pleasant. Taylor then spends the afternoon on the phone or internet, in contact with her own family.

Louis calls that night, but he doesn’t call Harry’s mobile. He calls the house phone, and Anne’s face goes soft with fondness as soon as she recognises his voice. “Hi darling, how are you?”

Harry is in the middle of slaughtering Gemma at Guitar Hero in the living room at the time, so he doesn’t pay much attention to his mother’s end of the conversation. It’s not unusual for Harry and Louis to interact with one another’s families independently like this. Sometimes Harry would rather talk to Jay than his own mother.

“Tell him to bring back my One Tree Hill DVDs!” Gemma shouts to her mother. She eyeballs Harry. “ _You_ were supposed to make him give them back.”

“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy?” Harry teases. “Playing Madison Square Garden and all that jazz, you understand.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re both big popstars and you’re too important to return DVDs to people. The fame is really getting to your heads.”

“Gemma, it’s a _terrible_ show.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t think so.”

“My boyfriend has questionable taste sometimes.”

“I’m telling him you said that!” Anne says gleefully from the other side of the room.

“Oi!” Harry falters in the middle of ‘Sunshine of Your Love’, his fingers fumbling on the plastic guitar. Gemma plays expertly right to the end, then jumps up and down in victory.

“Schooled!”

“Louis says you’re not allowed to say anything about taste until you throw out that awful fedora you bought in LA. He says it hurts his eyes every time he goes into the closet.” Anne says.

“Well Louis can put it in a drawer if it bothers him so much, but I love it,” Harry argues indignantly. “Also, do you think maybe I could speak to him at some point?”

Anne waves a hand dismissively. “Baby, you speak to him every single day. This is a treat for me.”

“You’re seeing him tomorrow!”

“So are you, so stop complaining.”

“C’mon H,” Gemma nudges him with her guitar and taps her way down to ‘Welcome to the Jungle.’ “You can talk to him later.”

Anne finally concedes control of the phone nearly an hour later. Harry curls into the couch with a petulant, “That fedora was really expensive.”

“Another reason that it’s an offence to my senses then,” Louis replies cheerfully. “You could have actually bought something cool with that money.”

“What, like the giant Spiderman statue you insisted on putting in our basement?” Harry smiles, happy to fall into the easy rhythm of their banter.

“I had Iron Man already, he was lonely.”

“Mm, very important to keep Iron Man happy.”

“I’ll have you know that Tony Stark’s emotional issues are one of the most interesting things about his character...”

Harry listens, not because he particularly cares about the inner workings of Louis’ favourite Marvel characters, but because it’s so nice to hear his voice. They spend another hour on the phone, talking about what else Louis wants to buy for the basement, how excited he is for Iron Man 3, and whether it’s worth it to get a smoke machine installed for his New Year’s Eve party.

Louis seems cheerful, certainly much better off after a few days of rest. He was home with his mother and sisters for some of it, and it seems to have refreshed him immensely. Although he’s still not pleased about what’s going on with Taylor, he actually tells Harry that instead of pretending otherwise. It’s all Harry asked for and he’s grateful for it. They tend to bounce back from fights quite quickly and it’s a relief to feel that the tension between them from last week has disappeared. Now, Harry can stop worrying about Louis and just be excited to see him tomorrow.

 

The day after Taylor’s birthday, Harry drives her to the airport early in the morning. It’s a quiet, peaceful ride. Taylor is happy to be going home, Harry excited at the prospect of Louis’ birthday party this evening. He and Taylor don’t speak much but when they do it’s civil, even friendly. Once Taylor is safely on her plane, Harry puts his foot down hard on the accelerator and turns in the direction of Yorkshire and Louis.

Louis has texted a couple of times this morning already, letting Harry know that he's on his way to the hotel to wait for him. Their family and friends won't be arriving until the evening and all Harry can think about is that he's about to have an entire afternoon, alone, with Louis, in a hotel room with what he hopes is a very large bed.

Louis appears to be thinking along the same lines, if what he texts to Harry is any indication. _okay I checked in, the room is really lovely, massive bed...;)_

Harry doesn't reply for a few minutes as he gets onto the highway, and by the time he's picking up his phone again there's a new message. _i'm thinking about your skin against these sheets, I want to get my mouth all over you._

Harry gulps, looking back at the road as images of Louis flood his mind. They've only been apart a couple of days but Harry _misses_ him, misses his warm soft skin and his clever little hands and his talented mouth. He wants Louis' lips on his, wants Louis looking up at him through his eyelashes as he kisses his way down Harry's chest.

He's still a good hour outside of Yorkshire when Louis' texts start to escalate into full-blown teasing. _i miss your cock,_ it starts, almost conversational. Then, _you're gonna fuck me the moment you get in the door, okay?_ Then _i'm having a bath so i'm all clean and ready for you babe_.

Harry starts squirming in his seat, his jeans uncomfortably tight against his hardening dick. There's heat pooling in his belly and his hands twitch to touch but he's so, so far away. Louis is naked and wet in a bath somewhere without Harry's hands on him. It's a tragedy.

Twenty minutes pass with no message and Harry's sweating with trying not to think about what Louis is doing. Then another message comes through. _my bath is finished, these sheets are SO soft_ and Harry waits for a red light so he can reply, _please tell me you're naked_. A moment, and then Louis' reply: _sure babe how else would i get ready for you??_ and then Louis sends a fucking picture and Harry nearly swallows his tongue.

It's Louis from the shoulders up, with two fingers in his mouth. His cheeks are hollowed, pink tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth. He looks coy and cheeky, his eyes heavy-lidded but glinting with mischief, cheekbones damp and fringe messy over his forehead.

Harry's hands tighten on the wheel and he has to pull over at the first spot he sees or he's going to crash the goddamn car. He's so hard it physically hurts, straining against his jeans and he's breathing like he just ran a marathon. With the engine off Harry slumps against the window, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. He's still got the picture open and he can imagine, vividly, the movement as Louis sucks his fingers slowly in and out of his hot, wet mouth. He knows that Louis didn't just do it for fun, he'd be using the fingers on himself. Right now, miles away, Louis Tomlinson is pressing his fingers up into his body, probably whining softly as he feels the burn of it, and Harry is stuck in a fucking car with his knuckles going white around his phone.

He knows he should close the picture so he can _drive_ but he can't bring himself to do it for several long minutes. Then he takes some very deep breaths, sends _asdfl'aksdflas are you trying to kill me_ to Louis, and restarts the car.

Louis' teasing continues for the rest of the drive, with such gems as _i want to be all stretched for you so you can just slip right inside_ , _harry hurryyyyyyy, my fingers aren't the same as your cock :( :( :(_ and then _they're not thick enough :(_ while Harry bangs his head against the steering wheel. It's both stupidly arousing and incredibly endearing, because Louis is using _sadface emoticons_ while he fingers himself and Harry is just so, so gone for him it's ridiculous.

Harry stops replying after a bit because he knows he's going to get himself into an accident if he doesn't stop thinking about Louis' ass sometime soon. But he's hard the entire trip and almost trembling with the need to get his hands on Louis by the time he parks at the hotel.

Harry checks in at the desk with a breathless “Harry Styles?” and the receptionist immediately brightens in recognition. “Mr Styles! We’ve been preparing for your function all day, there’s just a small situation with the menu -”

“I’m so sorry, I just really need to get up to my room,” Harry interrupts, moving his bag to try and hide his raging hard-on and taking the keycard she hands him.

“But -”

“I can deal with it later, it’s urgent!” Harry gives a half-hearted wave as he walk-runs to the lift and jams his finger against the up button.

He bounces on his feet in the lift, hands clenching and unclenching around the strap of his bag. The knowledge that Louis is only minutes away is somehow worse than it was in the car and Harry whines impatiently.

He sprints the length of the hallway and jams the keycard in the slot. The moment the door closes behind him Harry has an armful of warm, happy, _naked_ boy.

He drops his bag to catch Louis, hands coming up to grab at the thighs that are wrapping around his waist. Louis is grinning as he kisses fervently at every inch of Harry he can reach; cheeks, nose, forehead, hair, chin. Harry can only laugh, adjusting his grip to hold Louis even closer and tilting his head to return the happy kisses.

“Hi, birthday boy,” he murmurs against Louis’ mouth. Louis beams at him, smiling like the sun and Harry’s heart flips. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Louis returns, now leaning in to suck on Harry’s neck. Harry groans softly, his fingers tightening on Louis’ thighs and - yeah, Louis is _naked_ and in Harry’s arms and Harry should really do something about that.

He twists his head and finds Louis’ lips, licking into his mouth with intent. Louis’ tongue is warm and eager in his mouth as he kisses back deeply. Just like that Harry remembers how goddamn hard he is, remembers all the things he’d fantasised about doing to Louis when he was driving.

“Wanna fuck you,” he growls into Louis’ neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. Louis moans, nodding and squeezing Harry’s shoulders.

“Yeah, ‘m ready Haz, been waiting for you, do it.”

Harry takes one step, two, until he finds the wall and pushes Louis up against it. It’s easier this way, Louis half supported by the wall and half by Harry’s hands spread under his ass. Harry kisses feverishly at Louis’ neck as he covers Louis’ body with his own, grinding against him. He can feel Louis’ cock hard between them.

“C’mon,” Louis demands, tugging Harry’s hair. “I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon, can you _get in me_ already?”

Harry smirks and takes a moment to suck on Louis’ earlobe. “Have to take my pants off first, love.”

Louis whines impatiently and his hands sneak between them, tugging Harry’s shirt up so he can reach for his belt. It’s not easy to balance; Harry has to push forward and shove Louis harder against the wall to keep him from slipping and Louis’ thighs are tense around his waist. Harry’s hands clench around the muscle of Louis’ ass, squeezing greedily as Louis’ fingers tug at his fly. His finger nudges against Louis’ hole and he can _feel_ it, how warm Louis is inside, can tell that he’s wet and stretched from what he did to himself before.

Louis loses his breath when he feels Harry’s finger at his entrance, his fingers fumbling and then he’s _yanking_ at Harry’s zipper like he’s lost any patience he had left.

When Harry’s cock is finally out of his pants, flushed and so, so hard, Louis starts squirming. “Okay do it fuck me right now,” he pants, fisting Harry’s cock and trying to wriggle down towards it. Harry shushes him with a kiss and he crooks two fingers up inside Louis to make sure he’s prepped.

Louis breaks out of their kiss, scowling at him. “I told you I was ready, now _fuck me_.”

Laughing, Harry just kisses him again and pulls his fingers out. He shifts them enough to get the right angle, so he can finally just press Louis into the wall and get his cock into him. He holds Louis with his big hands spread over Louis’ ass, lowering him carefully down as his hips push up. He goes slow, keeping his eyes locked with Louis’. Despite all the whining about how he’d prepped, Louis is still incredibly tight and Harry hears himself grunting as Louis’ body squeezes hotly around him.

Louis is pink-cheeked and breathing hard, Harry filling him slow and steady on that first thrust. After a moment he has to bow his head and bury it in Harry’s neck, face hot. He bites the skin there and _whines_ when Harry is inside him completely, his body tense.

They’re suspended there for a second, Harry fully clothed except for his cock buried to the hilt in Louis’ body, with Louis hiding his face in his neck as he tries to adjust to Harry inside him. He wriggles a little and Harry slaps his ass playfully, murmuring, “Hey, you keep moving and I’ll drop you,” but Louis just jolts when he feels Harry slap him, moaning like he’s dying.

“Seriously, are you good?” Harry asks, pressing absent kisses to Louis’ sweaty hair. Louis nods and pulls back, flicking his hair out of his eyes. His pupils are blown wide with arousal, spots of colour blooming in his cheeks.

“Yeah, you just feel really fucking huge,” he mutters. Harry smirks and Louis grins, squeezing down on Harry deliberately. “Now are you just gonna stand there or -”

Groaning, Harry starts to move. It’s fast and messy and urgent, Harry slamming Louis up against the wall and fucking into him hard and rough. His biceps strain with the effort of holding Louis up for this long. Louis’ thighs are quivering around Harry’s waist, his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck and his head tipped back against the wall as he takes Harry’s cock again and again. Harry just buries his face in Louis’ neck, biting and panting and grunting while his hips move wildly. He knows they’re making a lot of noise; Louis keeps making these desperate, high whimpers in the back of his throat every time Harry fucks into him, and the back of his head thumps into the wall a few times with the force of Harry’s thrusts.

Desperate to come, Harry tries to adjust his grip to get a little more leverage, but his hands are sweating, fingers slippery. His arms are starting to ache and Louis is worse, putting more of his weight on Harry as he loses the presence of mind to hold himself up.

Harry whines in frustration and pulls out, setting Louis on his feet. He catches the look on Louis’ face - shocked and outraged, before spinning him roughly and bending him over the first flat surface he finds, which happens to be a desk. Louis goes down easy but he’s wiggling in impatience, glaring at Harry over his shoulder. “What the fuck Harold, get back in me _right now_ ,” he hisses, spreading his legs.

Harry just takes half a second to admire the sight before him - Louis spread out, naked and sweaty and begging to be fucked, before he spreads Louis’ cheeks and shoves his cock roughly back inside.

Louis makes a sound like he’s choking and rests his palms flat on the table beside his body, using the leverage to push back against Harry. “Yeah,” Harry groans, gripping tight to Louis’ hips. This is better, he finally has enough leverage to just _fuck_ him so he does, rutting into Louis relentlessly. Louis can only squirm and whine and take it, finally so overwhelmed that he can do nothing but pant into the surface of the desk as Harry fucks his orgasm right out of him. When he comes, he whimpers like he’s surprised by it, his body tightening up so much around Harry that Harry’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.

He lasts a few more seconds buried deep inside Louis’ ass before he pulls out and wraps a hand around himself, stroking roughly. Harry’s gaze roves Louis’ body, the perfect roundness of his ass and the sweat glistening on the dimples at the base of his spine. His back is arched beautifully, the skin rubbed red from being fucked against the wall. There’s a bruise forming on one hip, maybe from Harry’s hand, maybe from rubbing against something sharp on the wall. Harry jerks himself harder and comes so hard he has to put his hand on the desk to steady himself.

His come shoots all over Louis’ back, streaking the soft pink skin. It pools in the arch of his spine, splatters on his ass, a couple of drops even glinting wetly on his shoulder blades and the damp nape of his neck. “Jesus christ,” Harry says weakly, milking the last drops of his orgasm and watching them drip languidly onto Louis’ skin.

 

Louis after a really, really good fucking is one of Harry’s favourite things in the world. He’s pretty and soft and sleepy, his mouth pulled into a lazy smile as he lets Harry manhandle him up into a sitting position and kiss him wet and deep. Louis just hums against his mouth and rubs his cheek on Harry’s shirt. Harry transfers them to sit on the couch, Louis curled up in his lap still covered in come and sweat. Their kissing slows down when Harry finally reminds Louis that they have a party to attend.

Louis giggles and hides his face in Harry’s chest. “I guess I need another bath.”

 

The guests are due to arrive at 7:30pm, so Harry and Louis are able to enjoy a quiet afternoon together in the luxurious room. They take a long bath and then lounge around in bed playing video games and fooling around online. Harry calls down to reception to sort out whatever last-minute party planning they needed him for earlier. He's starting to get really excited about the party - he hasn't really had a chance to just _enjoy himself_ without worrying about work stuff in weeks. Even MSG had the cloud of Taylor hanging over it, and who knows how New Years is going to turn out. Tonight is all about Louis and nothing else, no stupid politics involved. Harry can't wait.

When it's time to get ready, Louis dresses himself in black jeans, Vans, a smart navy blue button-down and a suit jacket over the top. Just before he disappears into the bathroom to style his hair, Harry stops him. "Hey, I got you something."

Louis' eyes light up and he claps his hands together excitedly. "Ooh, presents!"

He lets Harry guide him into sitting on the bed while Harry rummages through his bag for two plastic-sealed packages. "It's not much," Harry says bashfully as he hands them over. "I just thought you'd like it, for tonight."

Curious, Louis unwraps the first package and lifts out a black button-down shirt. His eyebrows furrow slightly. "You got me a shirt?" he asks, and doesn't wait for Harry to answer before opening the other package, which contains a white shirt. "You bought me two shirts."

Feeling incredibly stupid, Harry sits down beside him on the bed. "No, it's - look." He unfolds both the shirts to show Louis the black collar on each of them. "They match, see? This one's mine and this one's yours, I thought we could wear them both tonight."

Louis looks at the shirts for another minute before turning to Harry, his nose crinkled. "You bought us matching shirts? Harry, that's adorable."

"It's dumb," Harry replies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just saw them in our sizes and I thought -"

Louis shushes him with a kiss, his hand soft on Harry's cheek. "It's sweet, H. I love matching with you."

Harry smiles, relieved. "Okay, good."

Louis grins. "I mean, I was kind of expecting a bit more for my 21st birthday gift, but..."

"Oh, so you're rejecting them now, hmm?"

"I'm just saying that when one turns twenty-one, one can reasonably expect one's millionaire boyfriend to get him more than a shirt as a gift."

"And what if one is also a millionaire?"

"Irrelevant, one should still be able expect extravagant gifts."

"So you're saying my painstakingly picked out gift, the shirt that I had to walk into a store and spend an entire eighty pounds on, isn't good enough for you? I'm wounded."

Harry clutches at his heart, affecting a pained grimace while Louis laughs and begins to strip out of his navy shirt. "No, Harry, it's fine. I can accept a shirt as my only birthday present." He puts on the black one, buttoning it slowly and raising his eyebrows teasingly at Harry as Harry watches. "It is a very nice shirt."

"Oh good, I guess I can return the jetskis then," Harry deadpans. He changes into his own shirt, identical to Louis' except in colour.

"Jetskis?"

"Mm, but you're happy with the shirt, so who needs 'em, right?" Harry hums to himself as he buttons his shirt.

Louis pushes him back to sit on the edge of the bed again, clambering into Harry's lap and doing up the last three buttons for him. "Did you really get me jetskis?" he asks, meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry laughs. "You'll have to wait until your real birthday to find out, won't you?"

Louis smooths down Harry's collar and leans in to nip at Harry's neck with sharp little teeth. "You know if it's not jetskis it has to be just as good, right?"

"Oh?"

"Mm, you've set the bar now. You've put the idea of jetskis in my head and I can't settle for anything less."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "Do you even know what to do with a jetski?"

"I could learn."

Harry just laughs and pats Louis' thigh. "We'll see, boo."

 

Finally all dressed up and with five minutes to spare, Harry finds Louis in the bathroom making the finishing touches to his hair. He hovers in the doorway, watching Louis fiddle with a couple of stubborn flyaway strands. He looks gorgeous, all sharp features, soft skin and bright blue eyes. Harry can't resist the urge to step close and wrap around Louis from behind, his hands settling on Louis' stomach. Louis' eyebrows raise as Harry stoops to rest his chin on his shoulder, looking at him in the mirror. "Hello."

"You look gorgeous," Harry murmurs. He enjoys the way Louis' cheeks flush slightly and his eyes lower shyly. Louis stops fiddling with his hair long enough to touch his fingertips to Harry's where they rest on his belly. "Not so bad yourself, curly."

Harry hugs him closer and for a moment they just stand there in front of the mirror, taking in the picture they make together. "We look good together, don't we?"

"I've always thought so," Louis smiles at him and leans back in Harry's embrace. Harry studies them again. He's always enjoyed their contrasts; Louis' sharp features next to Harry's broader ones, Louis' petite body beside Harry's broadness and height. With the matching shirts it's even more noticeable how much they complement each other and something about it makes Harry's stomach swoop happily. It's fitting, that they look good together. It should look as good as it feels.

Harry fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his phone. "C'mon, let's take a picture."

Louis nods and twists his head enough for their lips to meet as Harry snaps the picture. Harry pulls back, looking down at his phone. It's a lovely photo; the two of them wrapped up in each other, features soft. Louis is smiling into the kiss, his eyes crinkled at the corners. The kiss looks tender and Harry knows that anyone who saw this picture would know about them. It's impossible to look at it and not see two people in love.

He has a mad and fleeting urge to just post the picture to Twitter and damn the consequences, but he knows he can't. Harry settles for sending it to his email, ready to join the hundreds of other personal pictures they have hidden on their computers.

"Ready?" Harry questions, letting go of Louis and stepping back to straighten his clothes.

Louis smiles broadly at him. "Let's go."

 

The party is amazing. It's a hundred of Harry and Louis' nearest and dearest crammed into the ballroom of Doncaster's finest hotel, and Harry feels drunk on happiness before he even touches the champagne.

They eat and drink and dance and they laugh, they laugh _a lot_ , their friends and families mixing seamlessly. Louis' aunt is in the corner having a laugh with Harry's stepbrother, Anne is dancing with the twins, laughing raucously, and Stan has just gotten into a fierce debate with Robin about football. Harry flops down into his seat beside Louis to watch as Gemma teaches Keith Tomlinson the Single Ladies dance, and he can't stop smiling.

"Our family is family," Harry realises, squeezing Louis' knee. "Lou, look at us all."

"I know," Louis covers Harry's hand with his own, interlacing their fingers and beaming at Harry. "It's my favourite thing about tonight."

Harry returns his smile and they get caught up in each other, dopey and starry-eyed. Harry wonders if this will ever go away, the swoop in his stomach when Louis smiles at him or the way he can't look away from Louis' eyes. It's exactly the same as it was when he was sixteen years old with a massive crush on the boy from the bathroom, and Harry hopes it never changes.

He tugs on Louis' hand, standing up and pulling him toward the dance floor. "C'mon, birthday boy. Show me your moves."

 

Liam, Danielle and Eleanor show up together just before the cake is brought out. Harry's good mood can't even be dimmed by El's presence; Jay had insisted she be invited and their PR had agreed. It doesn't matter because the people in this room are not the people that Louis and Eleanor are trying to convince. They don't have to put on any kind of act, and neither do Louis and Harry. He finds it much easier to get along with Eleanor when she's just being herself instead of clinging to Louis like she usually has to. Harry even manages a brief conversation with her about her school, and congratulates himself for it. Dutifully, Louis takes a posed photo with her and after that, Harry barely sees Eleanor for the rest of the night.

It's getting late when people start to trickle away, climbing into cabs or taking the lifts upstairs to their rooms. Louis is absolutely glowing with happiness as he exchanges goodbyes and heartfelt thanks with his guests. This is Louis at his best; surrounded by his loved ones, that irresistible magnetism he exudes pulling everybody into his orbit. It makes Harry really happy, to see how well Louis is loved and cared for. Nobody deserves it more.

With the ballroom half-empty, Harry and Louis dance together, wrapped up in each other in the middle of the floor. Harry feels peaceful and warm as he sways to the music, something soft and sweet that reminds him of quiet nights tangled up on the sofa. Louis is sleepy in his arms, his face tucked into Harry's shoulder and his eyes closed.

"Good birthday, baby?" Harry questions quietly as the song is ending. Louis tilts his head up to look at him, his face breaking into a bright smile.

"Perfect," he says sincerely. Louis leans up and nuzzles their noses together, then kisses Harry sweet and slow. "Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has his birthday, the boys cope with spending NYE apart, and Harry makes an important decision about Taylor.  
> Warnings for descriptions of a panic attack.

Once they're home in London, there's a blessed two days of freedom before they need to be back in the US again. For Harry, it feels like a moment to catch his breath between the whirlwind of the past month and what he knows is coming in the next.

On the first day, Harry wakes late, and in his favourite possible way: snuggled close against Louis’ back. Louis is still asleep, his breathing deep and even, body lax in Harry’s arms. Harry smiles sleepily, allowing himself to come to wakefulness slow and easy. He blinks, eyes coming into focus as he takes in the weak December sunlight streaming into the bedroom. It looks grey and crisp outside - a good day for them to stay in and do nothing.

He’s in no rush to get out of the warm bed. Instead, Harry cuddles closer to Louis, dipping his head to nose at the nape of Louis’ neck. Downy soft hair tickles his skin and Harry inhales deeply, breathing in the smells of warm and boy and home. He thinks again about their plans for the matching ship/compass tattoos, thinks about how good that’s going to be. He feels like every new tattoo brings them strength, each drop of ink proving what they are to one another.

Smiling in drowsy contentment, Harry begins to layer gentle kisses to the back of Louis’ neck. “Lou,” he murmurs, trailing light fingertips over Louis’ belly. “Baby, little bear...”

He could wait until Louis wakes up on his own, but Harry is impatient, filled with a sudden need to see Louis’ smile, to hear his voice. It may be a lazy day off but he intends to spend as much of it as possible with the boy in his arms.

“Louiiiiiiiiis,” he whispers, dotting kisses up Louis’ neck toward his ear. He pauses briefly to calculate how long it will be until high definition pictures will be taken of them (about a day and a half) before he sets to work sucking a light bruise into Louis’ skin.

Harry feels rather than sees Louis waking up, feels his body shift slightly and his breathing change. He leaves his mouth on Louis’ pulse point, sucking gently for another moment before he pulls away. The mark he’s left is small, flushing dark red against Louis’ golden skin. Harry smiles fondly at it and continues his journey over Louis’ neck, layering soft kisses in a path toward Louis’ jaw. “G’morning.”

“Mornin’,” Louis’ voice is raspy and thick. “Did you dream you were a vampire or something?”

“Mmm, no,” Harry hums, his hand still tracing patterns over Louis’ belly and hips. He can’t help himself; Louis is so warm and sleep soft, so very touchable like this. “Did dream about some pretty good morning sex though.”  
Harry is now peppering kisses over Louis’ cheek; he feels the skin move under his lips when Louis smiles. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Filthy stuff.”

Louis turns over carefully, onto his back so he’s looking up at Harry. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue in the weak sunlight, his hair glinting gold and his smile bright. He reaches up to run his fingers lightly through Harry’s curls. “I think you should tell me all about it.”

Harry grins, dipping his head to drop a kiss on Louis’ mouth. “How about I show you?”

 

They fall back asleep afterwards, snuggling back under the covers warm and sated. Harry wakes an hour or two later and climbs out of bed, his toes curling in the cold. It’s snowing lightly outside, he notes absently as he passes the window on his way to the bathroom.

Once he’s showered, Harry slips into soft track pants and a thick knitted jumper, stuffing his damp curls under a beanie. He wanders downstairs, stealing Louis’ slippers from the corner of the bedroom on his way to protect against the cold floorboards in the kitchen. He flips the central heating on and makes himself a cup of tea. 

Warm mug clutched gratefully in his hands, Harry shuffles over to the glass doors at the end of the kitchen. The snow is swirling down gently, catching on the branches of trees which overhang the balcony. Harry sips his tea and watches. He’s not thinking of much, allowing his eyes to follow the movement of the snowflakes. He feels peaceful, steady. It’s the kind of feeling he doesn’t find often, this total relaxation and comfort of home. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there (at least long enough for his mug to be half empty) before he hears Louis’ footsteps padding across the kitchen floor. Arms wrap around Harry’s waist from behind, Louis’ hands settling on Harry’s stomach. His chin perches on Harry’s shoulder and warmth spreads in every place they’re pressed together. He smiles.

“S’pretty,” Louis murmurs. His voice is still raspy from sleep, his breath huffing warmly against Harry’s neck. 

Harry hums a soft noise of agreement. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the moment with conversation; instead chooses to appreciate the feeling of Louis wrapped securely around him. 

They stand there for awhile, pressed together while Louis tries to steal sips of Harry’s tea. He complains bitterly about how much sugar Harry put in it, but continues to drink it anyway. Harry just rolls his eyes. He chooses not to point out he left tea out for Louis and it’s currently going cold on the kitchen counter. 

Finally, Harry turns around to face Louis properly. He looks sweet: still sleepy in loose navy track pants and a huge black jumper of Harry’s. It falls to halfway down his thighs and past his wrists, making him look tiny. As usual when they’re home alone, he hasn’t bothered with contacts and his black-rimmed glasses sit slightly lopsided on the bridge of his nose. 

“I was thinking BLTs for lunch?” Harry asks. He reaches out to adjust Louis’ glasses so they sit straight. Louis leans up to kiss him softly.

“Sounds great.”

 

 

They touch down in LA a couple of days later and the first thing Harry does is head to Shamrock Tattoo to have his ship tattoo inked.

Taylor meets him there for another photo op, but Harry is past the point of caring. He listens to her chatter away as he flips through design books, looking for the perfect ship.

They discuss it for a long time before Harry settles on an old-fashioned looking ship, British for good measure. He shows Freddy the spot on his arm and settles back into the chair, closing his eyes and waiting for the sting of the needle.

Harry stays over at Taylor's house that night, which is somehow even more awkward than when she was in Cheshire. He meets Taylor's mother and brother, making stilted conversation as Taylor leads Harry to one of the guest bedrooms. He sleeps badly, unable to find a position that doesn't make his arm ache. In the morning, Harry stands around in Taylor's driveway long enough for pictures to be taken before saying goodbye and going into the studio for X Factor rehearsals.

 

Harry's very, very proud of the ship tattoo and he can't help showing it off to anyone who'll look. Zayn is especially interested, exclaiming over the shading and detail as Harry preens happily. "Christ, he's good, isn't he?" Zayn says thoughtfully, looking at the ship again. "Maybe I'll get something new done while we're here."

“You can come with me,” Louis offers from the other side of the stage. They’re in the middle of rehearsals for X Factor but nobody seems to mind that they’ve stopped to chat. “I’m going tonight for my compass.”

“It’s gonna look sick,” Niall interjects, gesturing between Louis and Harry. “Ship and compass. Really sweet.”

Harry grins goofily over at Louis. “Thanks, Ni.”

“I mean, you’re so cute I kinda want to throw up, but,” Niall teases with a soft laugh.

"Aw, don't be bitter just because you're all alone, Nialler," Louis banters. Niall runs over to catch him in a headlock, messing Louis' hair while Louis howls in outrage.

Once they finally break apart, panting, Niall looks between them again. “How many secret couples tattoos do you reckon you’ll have before you’re even out? You’re gonna run out of space for the real ones.”

Louis shrugs. “Why do you think we’re both leaving one arm bare, eh?” He winks. “It’s called planning ahead.”

Harry glances down at his right arm, bare except for the ‘Things I Can’ on the inside of his forearm. He’s not sure whether it’s even been a conscious decision for him to not get it inked in more, whether Louis deliberately left his left arm plain too. It’s not something they’ve explicitly discussed, but Harry finds himself agreeing to the idea immediately. He’d desperately love to get real couples tattoos with Louis one day - maybe a vine that wrapped around their arms and connected on both sides, leaving them entangled. Maybe a song lyric, half-complete on both sides. They have a lot of options, and a whole lot of time to figure it out.

Louis must realise that he’s just included Harry in a plan that they haven’t even agreed on. He turns a questioning look on Harry, raising his eyebrows at Harry’s arm as if to say ‘you in?’. Harry nods, giving him a quick thumbs-up and a bright smile.

 

Louis and Zayn leave for Shamrock later that night. Rather than sitting around waiting for their return, Harry decides to go out and catch a concert in LA before meeting up with some friends. When he's back, it's late and Louis is getting ready for bed. 

"Let me see, let me see, let me see," Harry implores, staring at the bandage wrapped around Louis' right arm. 

"If I get an infection I'm blaming you," warns Louis. They sit side by side on the bed and he carefully peels the bandages away.

Harry doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't the gorgeous old-fashioned compass that's now drawn onto Louis' skin. It's shaded beautifully, just like Harry's ship and - Harry's breath catches. The needle points to the word 'home.' Louis hadn’t told him he was going to do that.

"Lou," Harry whispers, fingertips hovering over the tattoo. 

Louis shifts closer to him, their thighs touching. He looks down at the tattoo and lets his head tilt to rest on Harry's shoulder. “You know what I was thinking while I was getting it done? It’s not even just about home. It’s more than that. Like - I feel really lost sometimes when there's so much going on around us. When I'm with you I just know exactly where I am and _who_ I am. Compasses don't just help you get home, they help you figure out where you are. I feel like that's what you do for me, sometimes."

It's not like Louis to be so emotional, so honest, without Harry coaxing it out of him first. Harry lets the moment breathe, scared to break the spell.

Finally he clears his throat. "You're such a sap."

There's a second of outraged silence before Louis whips around to slap Harry on the arm. "See if I get romantic on you again!"

"You're like a Hallmark card," Harry recites with a grin, something Louis has said to him many a time. He inches away from Louis' murderous glare.

"Oh you better run, Styles.”

Louis pounces on him, tackling Harry back onto the mattress and straddling his lap. His hands sneak up under Harry's armpits to tickle mercilessly and Harry shrieks with laughter, writhing under the onslaught.

He doesn't fight back, mostly because he doesn't want to accidentally grab Louis' sore arm. He just lets Louis torture him for a few minutes until Louis is satisfied. He stops tickling but stays there on Harry's lap, panting and grinning.

Harry beams back up at him and touches the compass tattoo, very gently. "Thank you."

Almost grudgingly, Louis leans down to kiss him. "You're welcome."

 

With the full knowledge that they're to be separated again that night, Harry and Louis can't help but be a little clingy with one another on The X Factor red carpet.

Louis actually surprises Harry with how close he stays. Everywhere Harry turns, Louis is there - a guiding hand on his hip or hovering over the small of his back, the warmth of his body by Harry's side. Harry feels his presence even more keenly than usual, feels his body gravitate toward Louis almost unconsciously. It seems important, that they have this brief time together before Louis leaves for the UK with the rest of the boys. Harry soaks it up, memorises the feel of Louis' hand on his shoulder to help him get through tomorrow.

At one stage, Louis comes up while Harry is being interviewed, rubbing Harry's arm where the ship tattoo is still tender. Harry finishes talking and Louis guides him away to where they need to go next. Harry smiles and thinks, _compass_.

 

Louis arrives in London the following night. He's tired, sore and grumpy as hell, angered by the fact that he had to leave Harry behind in the US with Taylor again.

Someone decided that Eleanor should pick him up at the airport and Louis doesn't even _try_ to look happy about it. Let them say he was tired or sick or cold, he honestly doesn't care. He scowls as they climb into the car together, barely bothering to make conversation with Eleanor. She drops him at home and he feels bad about it afterwards, texting her a _sorry I'm such a dick_ as he unpacks.

El sends back, _I know it wasn't your choice but I had to come to London for this, you could have at least tried,_ and Louis sighs, feeling worse.

_I know. I am sorry. Things are just kind of messed up right now._

_He'll come home, Louis. He always does._

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Louis glances at Harry's side of the bed, cold and empty. Harry is probably on a flight to Utah right now, making polite conversation with Taylor. The thought makes Louis want to gag. He reaches down to press on the tender spot on his arm where the compass tattoo is beginning to heal. The reminder helps him to feel a little better.

 _Yeah_ , he replies shortly. _sorry again. goodnight._

 

Louis sleeps late the next day, his body still adjusting to the time difference. It's very cold and the house feels bigger than ever without Harry here. Louis tries to fill it with music, the sound of the TV, anything. It doesn't help and Louis thinks again about Harry's words last week; nowhere is home unless they're together.

The fridge is empty so Louis goes shopping. He stocks up on bread, milk and other boring staples. He knows he won't have the energy to cook anything decent for himself over the next few days, so he ends up with cheap ready-meals and sandwich fillings; nothing like what Harry usually spoils him with. He buys fresh fruit for Harry without thinking about it, cursing himself when he remembers that Harry won’t be home to eat it before it spoils.

 

Harry calls in the afternoon. It's just after 8pm in Utah and he sounds tired. They talk briefly about Louis' day, have a meaningless and lighthearted argument about the nutritional value of cup noodles, and debate whether Louis should buy a couple more Christmas gifts for his sisters.

It may not seem like much, but hearing Harry's voice makes Louis feel like he has a blanket wrapped around him, warmth filling him when Harry chuckles softly in his ear. Louis curls into the couch and closes his eyes, missing him desperately all of a sudden.

It's not until they've discussed Louis' day in detail that Harry lets Louis ask how he is.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs. “I just don’t know how to talk to her, Lou. I can tell she doesn’t like me and she knows I don’t like her, so mostly we just try to stay away from each other. It’s driving me crazy.”

Louis makes a sympathetic sound. He doesn’t understand how anyone could dislike Harry, but he certainly gets why Harry would have a hard time warming to Taylor. 

"Also," Harry hesitates, coughing. "I, uh. There's something else you should know."

"What?" Louis asks quickly. "Harry, if they're talking about extending this thing I swear to god -"

"No, no," Harry cuts him off. "We're still set for February, it's just...” he coughs again, clearly buying time.

"Harry, spit it out."

"You're going to be mad, but just know that I'm _fine_ , it was really nothing -"

" _What happened?_ " Louis digs his fingers into his palm, tensing as he waits for Harry's answer.

"I may have had a slight accident today."

"What the hell does that mean?" Louis says, his voice rising. "How slight? Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing, I swear," Harry replies. "I was just skiing and I fell and whacked my chin on the snow. It grazed pretty badly but they bandaged it up and I'm fine, really." He sounds sheepish.

"For fuck's sake," Louis growls, furious. He hates seeing Harry hurt in any circumstances, but the fact that this happened while he was on his godforsaken trip with Taylor...Louis can't help the rage that swells inside him.

"I'm fine," Harry insists again. "I look pretty stupid with the plaster on my face but it barely even hurts anymore. Don't be upset."

"Me?!" Louis nearly yells. "Harry, you should be upset! If you'd been at home where you belong this wouldn't have happened, but they had to drag you out to fucking Utah to get like, attacked by the snow or whatever- "

Too full of energy, Louis stands up from the couch and begins to pace, waving his hand wildly as he speaks. "This is bullshit, you know that? This whole goddamn thing. _Bullshit_. And everybody knows! Nobody's even buying it, I don't see why they're insisting on dragging it out. And now you've been hurt and you're probably going to miss my birthday and New Year's is going to be absolute shit and -"

"Louis!" Harry interrupts. "Breathe."

Louis stops and draws a deep breath, faintly registering how dramatic he's being. 

"My chin is fine, I promise. It was a stupid accident and we both know I could have easily done the exact same thing in our backyard. I'm leaving tomorrow so I _will_ be home for your birthday, and New Year's probably will be shit but we'll get over it, okay?"

Louis just stands there for a moment, glaring at nothing in particular and biting his lip. Then he says, "Stop being so mature and rational."

"You were about to have an aneurysm."

“I thought we just had a fight about how important it was for me to express myself.”

"Yeah, but getting angry about something you can't really change will probably just make you angrier," Harry insists gently. "Please, I meant it when I asked you not to get upset. I'll be back really soon and it will be your birthday and I don't want to be stewing over all this when we get to see each other. So just...breathe and be patient, yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis sulks. He turns around and flops back onto the couch again. "But if you could not hurt yourself again that would be great."

Harry laughs. "I'll do my best."

 

The night before his 21st birthday, Louis is home. Alone.

Harry had done his best, back when they’d been scheduling all this. He’d pushed as hard as he could for the trip to be shortened by just one day, so he could be home in time. It hadn’t worked.

And Louis gets it, he does. He knows with absolute certainty that this isn't Harry's fault, isn't his choice, that he would have done anything to get here sooner, but. It still hurts that Louis is spending his last hours as a twenty year old eating cheese on toast and watching old episodes of Prison Break.

He knows it's kind of his own fault, really. He could have done something for himself tonight. He could have gone to Doncaster to see his sisters, or organised a night out here in London. He could have made Zayn, Niall or Liam come over. Even Stan would have driven down if he asked, probably. But instead he's allowed himself to sit at home and pine for Harry.

When it's 11:30 and Louis is feeling particularly sorry for himself, he makes himself get up, turn the TV off and put his plate in the sink. He reminds himself firmly that he already had a wonderful birthday party just last week, and that Harry will be home in the morning. 

He goes to sleep, ignoring the empty space on the other side of the bed.

 

Surprisingly, the first person that Louis encounters on his birthday is not Harry, or Zayn, or even Stan. It's a very grumpy, bearded fellow whose nametag reads 'Stephen.' He rings the doorbell at 8am and Louis stumbles downstairs in his sweats, not awake and entirely confused. Stephen grunts at him, shoves a clipboard under Louis' face for him to sign, and waves several other bearded men into the house, who are carrying a very large box.

"Um," Louis says, blinking. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

"Louis Tomlinson?" says Stephen. Louis nods. "Then I'm in the right place."

"But I didn't order -"

"Well, somebody did." Stephen waits for the other men to deposit the huge box on the floor in the middle of the entrance foyer. "Have a good day then."

"But -" Louis says as the door is slammed shut in this face. It blows a wave of freezing cold air over him and he shivers, bare feet curling against the wooden floor. He wanders over to inspect the the box, wondering vaguely if it's all a very elaborate ruse for some crazed fan to get into his house.

There's an invoice tucked in under one of the plastic straps holding it all together and Louis picks it up, but it doesn't tell him much about what's in the box. What he does find is some familiar handwriting under the 'Delivery Instructions' box. _Lou - don't open until I'm home!! xx H_

Harry. Of course.

Louis grins, suddenly feeling light and excited.

He runs his hands curiously over the sides of the box, wondering what on earth Harry has bought him. Could he have actually gotten the damn jetskis? Louis laughs to himself. Harry would.

He decides to abide by Harry's wishes for now and leaves the box alone. He goes back to the bedroom to retrieve his phone, finding it already full of birthday texts and voicemails. 

It takes the better part of an hour to read, listen and respond to it all and Louis' smile feels permanently fixed on his face by the time he's done with it. He's lost count of how many times he's said 'thank you' or blushed at somebody's sweet words to him.

There's nothing from Harry yet, but Louis knows that's just because Harry is on a plane at the moment. Full of energy, Louis showers and dresses to fill the time, then makes himself breakfast and sits down to read through his twitter. The number of birthday messages is frankly overwhelming. Louis has an emotional moment to himself right there at the kitchen table, wondering for the millionth time how his life turned out this way.

The doorbell rings again at ten and Louis hops up and jogs to answer it, excitedly wondering what it could be this time. He opens the door to a sweet, smiling woman who is carrying the biggest bouquet of roses Louis has ever seen.

"You must be Louis," she surmises as she struggles to hand over the enormous burden. Louis takes it with an awed sort of smile, the white tissue paper it's wrapped in crinkling in his grip. The roses smell heavenly and they're a gorgeous deep red.

"Thank you," Louis murmurs, inhaling deeply. 

 

There's a card tucked into the roses too. _I know they're a cliche but I couldn't resist. Don't open the box!! LOVE YOU xx H_

Louis laughs delightedly and smells the roses one more time before going to find a vase big enough for them. He feels a bit like he’s floating on air, giddy with the realisation that Harry has planned all this just for him. 

He passes by the box again and it seems to be taunting him, closed off and mysterious. Louis bites his lip as he fights the temptation to have a peek. He's never been good at waiting for gifts - as a kid he'd always be hunting for them in the weeks before Christmas.

"No," he tells himself out loud, walking past the box and into the kitchen.

 

Louis doesn't even know if they _own_ vases, but knowing Harry he's stocked the kitchen with anything they could possibly need and more. Sure enough, there's an enormous (and admittedly beautiful) blown-glass vase tucked into the cupboard under the bench.

It's a little dusty and it still has the receipt sitting on the bottom, which Louis fishes out before he sets the vase on the bench. He glances at the receipt before he throws it out and his eyes widen when he realises that it's not a receipt at all, but another note.

_I know you almost peeked just now!! Be patient, it will be worth it. xxxxxxxxx H_

" _Harry_ ," Louis says to himself, his hand clutching tightly to the note. He has butterflies in his stomach, fluttery excitement filling him. Louis beams stupidly at the paper, overwhelmed by the way Harry makes him feel.

 

With the roses safely placed in the giant vase and set on the dining room table, Louis fishes his phone out of his pocket. He ignores several new birthday messages, choosing instead to snap a picture of himself next to the giant box. He tries to make a frustrated grimace but he hasn't stopped smiling since the roses arrived, so he looks insane in the picture he sends.

 _you're killing me here,_ he types. _WHEN ARE YOU COMING HOME????????????_

Harry doesn't reply for another half an hour. Louis alternates his time between gazing dopily at the roses and assessing the giant box. When his phone finally buzzes with Harry's ringtone Louis nearly jumps out of his skin. 

"Hello?"

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Louis, happy birthday to you," Harry croons at him, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. "You haven't opened it yet, have you?"

"No," Louis realises he's grinning widely just from being able to hear Harry's voice. "How far away are you?”

"Mmm, twenty minutes?" Harry hedges. "Think you can hold out 'til then?"

"If I must," Louis sighs, but the grin is back within seconds, almost without his permission. He ducks his head, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he adds, "Hurry up."

 

Twenty minutes later, Harry is finally stepping through the front door. Louis crowds him up against it immediately, throws his arms around Harry's neck and kisses him hard.

Harry makes a surprised noise but his arms come around Louis' back and his mouth opens to Louis' tongue as it presses insistently against his lips. They kiss hungrily, deeply, and after a minute Harry mutters something that sounds like 'C'mere,' and quite literally sweeps Louis off his feet.

Louis' stomach swoops in surprise when Harry picks him up and he wraps his legs around Harry's waist, clinging tighter to his shoulders. They pull out of the kiss reluctantly. Louis makes a soft noise of want when he gets a good look at Harry's face. His smooth, pale skin is flushed a pretty pink, his soft lips are wet and red. His eyes are wide and bright and fond. A well-kissed Harry Styles is honestly one of the most beautiful sights Louis has ever witnessed and he can't help leaning in to press their lips together again.

"Missed you," he says against Harry's mouth. Harry's hands squeeze his thighs where he's holding Louis up. Louis is reminded, quite vividly, of a hotel room in Doncaster a week ago.

"Gonna fuck me against the wall again?" he asks, moving to nibble at Harry's ear.

Harry gives a low chuckle. "Later," he says, nosing affectionately at Louis' neck. "Lemme kiss you a bit first."

And he does, slow and deep - just the way Louis likes it. Harry always kisses him so sweetly, hiding little smiles in the corner of his mouth when they break apart or nuzzling their noses together. His lips are so soft and so warm against Louis', the shape and feel of them forever embedded in Louis' memory.

Harry keeps Louis in his arms the whole time they kiss, his grip shifting but never faltering. Louis cards his fingers through Harry's curls, finding the softest ringlets behind his ears and over the nape of his neck. He strokes through them lovingly and Harry responds with a pleased murmur as he traces the shape of Louis' lower lip with his tongue. 

 

When Harry finally lowers Louis to the ground, Louis feels dazed and warm, his lips swollen. He touches Harry's face and tugs at the ridiculous thick collar of his black sweater. "Why are you covering up like this?" he asks with a teasing smile. It disappears as soon as he pulls the collar down properly and catches sight of the plaster covering the underside of Harry's chin.

Embarrassingly enough, Louis actually _growls_ , his eyes narrowing. He'd almost forgotten about Harry's accident.

"I'm fine," Harry assures him again, eyes earnest and wide.

Louis scowls. "Can this come off?" he asks, and Harry nods.

Louis bites his lip in concentration as he pulls at the edges of the plaster, mindful of Harry's skin. It peels back slowly and Harry tilts his head obligingly, silently, letting Louis assess the damage for himself.

It's certainly grazed; the angry red scratches are already scabbing over. There's one in the centre that looks particularly nasty and Louis desperately hopes it doesn't leave a scar. The surrounding area is bruised an ugly yellow colour. It looks very sore.

Louis shakes his head, suppressing a fresh wave of anger at the sight. He covers the cuts again, carefully pressing the band-aid back into place. A soft,"Sweetheart," is all he says. He touches his lips lightly to the injury.

Harry's eyes close and he pulls Louis close, tucks his head down into Louis' neck and holds him tightly. "Really missed you." 

Louis hugs him back, hands gentle where they trace circles on Harry’s back. “Thank you for the roses,” he whispers. “They’re beautiful.”

Harry kisses his neck. “You’re welcome.”

 

They separate after a long minute and Louis grabs for Harry's hand, dragging him toward the box that's still sitting in the foyer. "Can I _please_ open this now?"

Harry laughs. "Knock yourself out, baby."

Louis starts ripping and tearing at the edges of the box, eventually running into the kitchen for a knife to cut the plastic wrappings off it. Harry leans against the wall with his hands tucked into his pockets, watching with anticipation in his eyes.

Finally, the object inside all of the godforsaken packaging starts to take shape. Louis finds heavy, expensive metal first, about waist-height and rectangular. "Is this a table?" he asks, befuddled. "Did you buy me furniture for my birthday, Harold?"  
Harry laughs and shakes his head. "Keep going."

Brow furrowed, Louis rips at the rest of the cardboard and steps back to get a proper look at his gift.

It's a football table, but it's so, so much more than that. Modern, sleek, and stylish: it's a far cry from the ratty old table that Stan and Louis would play with as children. It's all steel, chrome and rounded edges, but the best part is the design. The colouring is all black and white, and down both sides is the Three Horseshoes F.C logo. It's his team, his silly little pub team that Louis loves so much.

" _Harry_ ," Louis says, clapping his hands to his mouth in childish delight. "How did you even - where did this _come from?_ "

Harry shrugs, looking immensely pleased with himself. "Custom order."

"Oh my god!," Louis bounces in excitement, running his hands over the table and grinning down at the perfect little aluminum players. "This is amazing Harry, holy shit!" He rushes over to plant a happy kiss on Harry's mouth. "Thank you, this is the best. The _best_."

He feels surrounded by warmth, filled with a glowing happiness from having Harry home again, from Harry’s perfectly planned gifts. Louis doesn’t stop kissing him until Harry is dazed and dopey, his mouth swollen and hair tousled from Louis’ hands.

 

Later, they set up the new table to play. Louis proceeds to win spectacularly in the first three games. Then Harry insists they play something he can actually win at, so they go to the games room in the basement for Mario Kart instead.

A couple of hours later they pause for lunch. Harry tuts disapprovingly when he figures out how Louis has been feeding himself the past few days, and proceeds to throw together an unfairly delicious pasta creation with everything he finds in the fridge. Content, Louis hums to himself as he eats. "You spoil the fuck out of me, you know that?"

Harry smiles over at him, knocking their feet together under the table. "I like to. Happy birthday, boo."

 

Harry's energy seems to flag after lunch and Louis is reminded that he did just fly all the way from the US. Harry seems determined to be awake and present for Louis' birthday, but after a while his dull, puffy eyes and constant yawning make Louis feel awful for him.

"You should have a nap, love," he suggests. They're not really doing anything right now, just half-heartedly playing Xbox while Louis tries to respond to more of his birthday messages. "We still have to drive to your Mum's tonight."

"No no, I'm good, I'm fine," Harry shakes his head, blinking hard. He reminds Louis of his little sisters before bedtime, insisting that they're not tired and that they can watch one more Simpsons episode, really.

"You're exhausted," Louis reaches over and rests his hand on the back of Harry's neck, kneading firmly at the stiff muscles. Harry moans and melts into it, his eyes closing. He slumps against Louis' shoulder and Louis noses against his soft hair, inhaling the familiar smell.

"I don't want to sleep through your birthday," Harry says, his voice gone slurred and deep as Louis continues to rub his neck. "I was going to blow you."

Louis laughs ruefully. "Well I would love that if I wasn't sure you'd fall asleep with my cock in your mouth."

"Wouldn't," Harry insists, but it's half-hearted at best. He paws weakly at Louis thigh. "C'mon, c'mere, lemme."

"Harry, it can wait," Louis argues firmly. "Come on, we can put a movie on and sleep right here on the couch."

Harry thinks this over. "Alright," he agrees finally, and shifts around for a more comfortable position. "But I _will_ blow you later."

"I'm not arguing, love."

They settle into the couch, Harry's back pressed to the cushions and Louis fitted against his front with Harry's arm curled around his waist. He flips the channels, pausing when Harry makes a delighted noise against the back of his neck. "Lady and the Tramp!" he says. "I love this movie, I haven't seen it since I was really little."

Louis laughs and shrugs. Of course Harry would go for the Disney film. Louis hasn't seen it in years either. "Okay, H."

 

They're barely half an hour into the movie when Harry falls asleep, warm and heavy against Louis' back. Louis threads his fingers through Harry's and closes his eyes.

 

After a few hours of napping, followed by a spectacular birthday blowjob when they wake, Harry and Louis make the drive to Holmes Chapel.

Anne, Robin and Gemma are happy to see them. Harry and Louis find themselves enveloped in warm hugs the moment they’re in the door, Anne murmuring a soft, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” into Louis’ ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Once they’ve settled in to Harry’s old room (with the Lord of the Rings posters on the walls that Louis still loves to tease him about), they join the rest of the family in the lounge for tea - and birthday cake.

“Anne, you didn’t have to,” Louis says, blushing faintly in pleasure as she places the pretty spongecake on the coffee table.

“Nonsense, it’s your birthday.” Anne sets up the candles and Louis can only smile as they all break into song.

 

Harry goes out briefly later that night, catching up with some of his old friends from home. Louis knows they can’t be seen together so he ends up staying at the house with everyone else. Anne is getting ready to have everybody over for Christmas lunch tomorrow, Louis’ family included, and there’s lots to help with. He catches up with Gemma as they set up tables and chairs, peel potatoes and count out napkins and cutlery. Louis feels comfortable here, surrounded by the people who care about him, who care about Harry. He’s grateful that they were able to wrangle the time together.

 

 

On Christmas Day, Louis’ family and the rest of Harry’s arrive about an hour before lunch. The whole affair is loud, a bit messy and very comfortable. Jay and Anne are thrilled to see each other again so soon and the twins barely leave Louis’ side all afternoon. Harry has a long discussion with Lottie about her boyfriend problems and Louis finds himself locked in a ferociously competitive Monopoly game with Gemma, her boyfriend Liam, Harry’s stepbrother Mike and his cousin Matt.

In the evening everybody is full and sleepy, and Anne has called off the Monopoly game before someone gets into a fistfight over Mayfair. With help from Felicite and Mike, she doles out tea, coffee and Christmas pudding while Robin declares it’s time to exchange gifts.

Daisy and Phoebe act as Christmas elves, sorting through the gifts under the tree and delivering them to those reposing on nearby armchairs and sofas. Harry and Louis sit knotted together in one of the softest chairs, sipping tea while the gifts pile in their laps. Louis allows himself to sink into the whole thing, to be warmed by the familiar voices of his family, the rich scent of Christmas pudding and the heat of the fire burning in the hearth nearby.

“I want us to do this every year,” he says quietly into Harry’s ear. “Everybody together for Christmas.”

Harry gives him a confused look. “Of course we will,” he says, squeezing Louis around the waist. “What else would we do?”

Louis doesn’t mention being forced apart, broken promises and circumstances they can’t control. He just nuzzles into Harry’s neck with a sigh.

 

Louis goes home to London with his family on Boxing Day, and Harry decides to spend the rest of the week up north with his own. Over the next few days, he sees Nick, his father, Gemma and Liam before he’s due back to the US for New Years’.

At home, Louis is glad to have the house full of life. His sisters love staying in London and Louis spoils them rotten. He takes them shopping every day and even has an ice rink installed in the backyard for them to play on.

By the 29th, his family have gone home and Louis is starting to prepare for his New Years’ Eve party. He knows he has a bit to live up to, since the party he and Harry had at their flat last year was pretty spectacular. Louis has already organised the food and the music, but he’s not stocked up on drinks yet and the whole house probably needs a good cleaning.

Stan, Eleanor and Olly all arrive the morning of the 31st to lend a hand, which really helps. Louis spends the day alternating between prep for the party and sending soothing texts to Harry, who is getting increasingly panicky about his impending kiss with Taylor.

He’s been in the US for a couple of days already, hiding out in Boston with Cal and his family instead of going to New York straight away. Their bosses hadn’t been happy about that. Harry seems to have reached a point where he’s not even trying to do what they tell him, and Louis couldn’t be prouder of him. Let their management give them ultimatums and instructions and threats; Louis, too is getting sick of being a good little boy about this. The fact is that, yes, they’re under contract and there are certain things they have to do. Beyond that, he’s done with pretending.

The tiny rebellions they do manage are a thrill now - Louis’ 21st party was a victory, and so was spending Christmas together. The tattoos are certainly a massive part of it and Louis wants to cover himself in them now, paint his body in symbols of his feelings. The knowledge that he has control over that small part of his life and there’s nothing they can do about it is incredibly uplifting. He finally understands why Harry has so many tattoos; inking themselves with the things they can’t say aloud is a perfect mix of rebellion and reassurance for one another.

It’s more than that, even. It’s ownership, possession and permanence. Louis loves looking at the dark lines of ink on Harry’s skin and thinking _yes, that’s mine._ It’s like a lovebite that will never fade, more permanent than wearing each others’ clothes or pressing bruises into each other’s skin. It’s even better than the promise ring Harry isn’t allowed to wear - the black one Louis bought in Paris which sits in a box on Harry’s dresser. Harry will be able to wear it, one day, but Louis hopes that even then, they won’t stop getting tattoos for each other.

For now, they still have another six weeks of the Taylor stunt to deal with, and the very worst of it will be happening in a matter of hours.

Louis knows it’s been planned out meticulously, the spot Harry and Taylor will stand and where the cameras will be placed. Harry has been told how long it should last, the best angle to get a good picture. It’s clinical, choreographed, and Louis has been trying to tell himself that it won’t mean anything beyond that. This is another thing Harry needs to do for work, like posing with whatever product they’re promoting in a photoshoot.

It still makes his gut twist painfully to think of Harry kissing somebody else. 

If Louis is upset, it’s nothing to what Harry is feeling. The closer he gets to New York, the sadder his texts sound. Louis has been trying to talk him through it all day, pulling everything he knows to comfort him, but there’s only so much he can do from the other side of the world.

The worry hangs like a cloud over Louis’ head the entire day, even as he tells himself to  
smile and laugh, because it’s New Years’ and he should be having fun. But all he really  
wants is to be where Harry is, stroking his hair and telling him that everything will be alright.  
He's forced to put Harry out of his mind when the guests start arriving a few hours later.

 

Louis throws a damn good party, if he does say so himself. The drinks are plentiful, the food perfect, and the music loud. He's invited a good group of people, a mix of new friends from London and old ones from Doncaster, and it's fascinating seeing them all interact. Louis sees Eleanor flirting with Adam from X-Factor more than once, and Stan seems to be hitting it off with everyone he speaks to. The photobooth is an inspired idea and Louis finds himself dragged into it over and over, the faces he makes getting more ridiculous the drunker he gets.

And drunk he is; flushed, loud and giggly by the time it hits eleven pm. It's a pleasant kind of drunk, the stage where he feels like everything is magnificent, including himself. He dances with everybody he can find, takes a lot of stupid pictures and strongly considers skinny-dipping in the indoor pool when Adam suggests it. El seems to think this is a bad idea, tugging Louis away from the stairs before he can even get there. Louis pouts but allows himself to be distracted by the tequila shot Olly passes to him.

 

He's terrible at tracking the time when he's drunk, so the countdown to midnight sneaks up on him. "It's ten to!" Stan yells in his ear, his arm wrapped around a pretty friend of Eleanor's. Shocked, Louis nods and his foggy brain focuses in on one thing: Harry.

"I just need to -" he makes a useless gesture with his hands and begins to stumble for the stairs to his room.

"Lou," it's Eleanor, drink in hand, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Louis nods too enthusiastically. "There's just something I need to do?"

He's digging in his pocket for his phone as he finds the staircase. Eleanor says his name again and he turns back. Her face is soft, her eyes pitying.

"Say happy new year for me?" she asks. "He probably won't want to hear it, but..."

Louis nods again, swallowing against an unexpected wave of affection for her. "Yeah, I will. Thanks, El."

She gives him a small smile and raises her drink to him. "Go on, it's nearly time."

 

Louis shuts himself in the bedroom. Because it's on the first floor and the party is below, the noise drops dramatically when he shuts the door. His ears ring in the unfamiliar quiet and Louis sits down on the bed, flicking one of the lamps on.

In the quiet coldness of the room, he feels himself sober up more than he'd like. In fact, he wishes he still had a drink in his hand - maybe it would numb him to everything, including the longing he feels for Harry to be beside him.

At five minutes to midnight, Louis calls Harry.

 

It takes a few moments to connect, the familiar click coming through as Harry picks up in New York.

"Are you drunk?" Harry asks immediately, tone teasing.

"Fairly," Louis admits with a laugh. "Biggest night of the year, innit?" He whoops obnoxiously and Harry chuckles. “Where are you?”

"At the hotel, we just had dinner and we’re leaving for Coldplay soon. How’s the party been?"

"S'good, really good," Louis enthuses. He talks for a minute about his night, filling Harry in on all the good bits while Harry makes interested noises in his ear.

"Sounds great," Harry sounds wistful and Louis sighs, his smile fading.

"Next year," he promises. 

"Isn't it like two minutes to midnight? Lou, you should be getting ready to do the countdown with everybody now."

"No, I don't think I will," Louis says brightly. "I think I'm good right here, actually."

Harry is silent again and Louis imagines him, his brow furrowing as he figures out what Louis means before his face softens into something half sad, half grateful.

"Louis," Harry protests half-heartedly. "You don't have to, your friends are waiting for you."

"They can wait another five minutes," Louis says firmly. "What's that thing they say about New Year's? You spend the rest of the year how you spend your New Year's Eve, or something. I better make sure I'm with you for it then, hadn't I?"

At this he knows Harry smiles. "Yeah, I guess so."

Downstairs, Louis hears the music shut off all of a sudden. "This is it, Haz!" he starts counting along with the crowd, chanting, "Ten, nine, eight," with his phone clutched tightly in his hand and Harry's voice counting with him. "Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!"

Louis grins into the phone and listens for the cheering going on outside his door. "If you were here I'd be kissing you so hard right now," he says.

Harry laughs. "I know."

Louis looks down at his right arm, tracing his thumbnail over the word 'home' on his compass. "Happy New Year, Harry."

And he was so determined to keep this light, to focus on the celebration and act like the separation wasn't tearing at him. But when Harry says, "Yeah, Happy New Year, Lou," in his slow voice, Louis feels every single mile between them.

"Fuck, I miss you," he blurts out. "I wish you were home."

There's a soft thunking noise and Louis thinks maybe Harry has knocked his head against something in frustration. "I'd give anything to be there," he says mournfully. "They're all ready to go on this stupid kiss thing and I just -" Harry inhales deeply and blows out a huff of air. "I don't know if I can do it."

Aching, Louis folds himself up tightly, knees to his chest. "You have to, sweetheart," he makes himself say, knocking his forehead against his knees. "It's one kiss, yeah? I've done it with El a few times now, it'll be over before you know it!"

His voice is too bright and Louis cringes, knowing Harry will see right through the bravado.

Instead, Harry seems to cling to it. "Yeah?" he asks, and Louis nods.

"Just close your eyes and think of England," he croaks out. Harry makes a startled noise and laughs. The sound just cuts right through Louis, hitting him with a fresh wave of longing.

"Just..." he closes his eyes. "Harry, do something for me?"

"Always."

"When you kiss her, can you not - there's this thing you do, where you kiss the corner of my mouth before you pull away? And how you smile just before you lean in, and how you rub the back of my neck sometimes?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do those things with her, okay?" Louis' voice is embarrassingly thick, an ugly lump of sadness sitting heavy in the back of this throat. "I want them to be just mine, please?"

"Louis," Harry's voice is unbearably soft and a little choked up. "I wouldn't. I couldn't."

"Okay," Louis wipes his eyes and clears his throat, trying for a watery smile. "We don't want her getting any ideas in her head, right?"

Harry doesn't laugh. "They're yours. _I'm_ yours."

"I know." Louis unfolds himself from his sad little ball. "I know, I'm just drunk and weepy and ridiculous, ignore me."

"Louis, don't -" Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off before he starts crying again.

"Party's still going, love," he says, gentle even as he shuts Harry down. "I need to go."

Harry sighs like he knows exactly what Louis is doing. "Okay, Lou."

"Call me again any time, yeah?" Louis asks. "I need to know you're okay."

"Yeah," Harry agrees. He sounds desperately sad.

"I love you so much," Louis offers, feeling useless.

"I love you too," Harry's voice is choked again. "I'll speak to you soon."

Louis opens his mouth but the dial tone clicks and he's left staring down at his phone, even more worried than he was before. 

 

It’s 11:00pm in New York City and Harry is nervous.

Going to the Coldplay concert had helped. It had kept his mind off things for a few hours, allowed him to focus on the music and enjoy himself instead of fretting. Harry additionally found comfort in the shirt he chose to wear tonight: the same crisp white button down he bought especially for Louis’ birthday party. The reminder of that night - their families dancing and laughing, Louis’ smile bright as the sun, Louis warm and content in his arms - is comforting to him on a cold, dreadful night like this.

He's known this was coming all along. He knows he should just be able to get on with it and move on. It shouldn't be a big deal. It's just a kiss, right? Harry kisses people all the time. Not when he's pretending to be in a romantic relationship with them, but still. A kiss is a kiss, and Harry knows without doubt that he has no romantic feelings for Taylor (hell, he barely feels friendship toward her), so why does he feel so terrible?

It's not like he's betraying Louis. Louis knows exactly what's happening (even though he's not exactly okay with it). He know it's necessary. But he knew that in the beginning of all this, and he's still been hurt. 

He's still _being_ hurt, back in London worrying about Harry while his party rages on around him. It's killing Harry to know how much damage this act has caused to them. 

The thing is that Harry is terribly loyal. He's been with Louis for a long time now and he's never felt any desire to stray from him, never felt the need to look at anyone else. How could he, when he has Louis? It would just be wrong anyway, and Harry thinks that's the part he's struggling with. No matter the reason or the backstory or the explanations, he shouldn't be kissing somebody else while he's with Louis.

All day he's felt jittery, his stomach flipping unpleasantly every time he thinks about the kiss. He's scared. Scared of whether he can pull it off, scared of whether he can make it look believable, whether he even _wants_ it to. Everything feels wrong; he's away from home, from the boys, from Louis, and half an hour from doing something which he's dreaded for months.

They're in the studios near Times Square with their teams, along with some of the people from the New Years' Eve coverage. Taylor has only just finished performing and she gives Harry a tight smile when she arrives. "How are you?"

Harry nods. "Good," he says. "Yeah, fine thanks. How was the show?"

"Oh, amazing!" She enthuses. "Everyone's so happy to be here and they knew all the words, I had a really great time."

Harry smiles at her this time, so familiar with the kind of high that comes from performing to a crowd like this. "Yeah, it's the best."

"Alright," Paula gets his attention, beckoning Harry and Taylor over to a small gaggle of cameramen. "These are the guys who will be filming you at midnight for the Kiss Cam, you understand? We're putting you on one of the viewing platforms on the next building over. So they'll go up with you, give you the cue and pack up when you're done. Remember everything you've been told?"

Taylor is nodding along, her expression neutral. 

But the longer Paula talks, the more her voice seems to fade. Harry finds himself staring at a random patch of wall behind her, and everything else starts to blur around the edges. All he can think about is his mum. 

His mum, who's spent the past eighteen years teaching Harry to be exactly who he is and don't worry about the rest. Who taught him to tell the truth and, more importantly, to be true to himself.

It's become so much bigger than that, with the life he lives now. Harry's done his best to be honest with the fans, with the people around him. He _wants_ people to know the real him, he's desperate to just have that freedom to express himself.

He knows how much this Taylor relationship has hurt the fans. He's seen the in-fighting on Twitter and Tumblr, seen the Larry shippers clinging desperately to hope, even seen some of Taylor's fans expressing their bewilderment. They'll get over it when it's done, he knows that, but the knowledge that he's caused distress to anyone, that he's caused people to _hate_ him over this really hurts. 

His mum taught him, too, that he can love whoever he wants as long as it makes him happy. She told him when he was eight and again when he was twelve and again when he was sixteen. When he told her about the boy he met in the bathroom, his heart thudding and his voice shaking, all Anne had said was, "Just don't let him slip away."

 

Paula is still talking, her voice floating vaguely into Harry's thoughts like a badly tuned radio. "Make sure the articles are out quickly"...."release the picture on Twitter immediately"...."check the viewer numbers"..."some pap pictures entering the hotel later"...

And Harry can't, he can't, he can't do it.

"I don't want to be filmed." 

Harry hears the words leave his mouth before he even gets a chance to consider them. Everyone turns to stare at him, Taylor curious, Paula impatient.

"What do you mean, you don't want to be filmed?" she says snappily. "That's exactly what we're here for, Harry. Now pay attention, please."

"I said I don't want to be filmed." Harry's voice is stronger this time, deeper. He may be trembling a little but they don't need to know that. "The kiss is in the contract, I get that. But I'm not going up on that platform and I'm not being filmed for the show."

Taylor looks torn between pity and annoyance. "That's what we're here for, Harry, you knew this all along. There's no point doing it if we can't be seen, right? So let's just get it over with."

"No." Harry looks between Taylor and Paula. "Film it in the crowd and put it on Youtube and Twitter. The fans will all still see it and they're the ones you're trying to convince, right? I'm not being paraded onto that viewing platform like a show dog."

"Harry," Paula's usually brittle voice is smoothed with fake sympathy. "Harry, sweetheart, I understand that you're nervous but it will be fine! Don't make a fuss about it now when we're all ready to go. You don't want to mess things up for everybody here, do you?" she waves a hand at the waiting camera-men and assistants.

"They'll adjust," Harry says firmly. It's not like him to dismiss people like that but he knows this is more important, knows in his gut that if he gets on that platform he'll never forgive himself.

"Harry," Paula's tone loses any trace of warmth. "This is your job and you need to do what you're told. Stop arguing with me and just get on with it."

"I said _no_ ," Harry's eyes narrow dangerously. "If you ask me again I'll have a tell-all video on Youtube before you can blink."

He doesn't think he's ever threatened anyone before in his life. It's oddly satisfying, watching Paula gape at him in surprise and something like fear. Harry stares her down and everything is silent for a long moment.

"Well what are we going to do then?" Taylor asks. "We still have to be seen."

Paula runs a hand through her ash-blond hair. "We'll have to do what Harry said and find a spot in the crowd. I need some time to figure this out." 

She gives Harry a venomous look as she turns away and gets her phone out. Harry takes a deep breath. He's still shaking, adrenaline pumping through his veins from the brief argument. At the same time, he feels a small sliver of pride about standing up for himself.

"You're determined to make this difficult for yourself, aren't you?" Taylor asks. She looks annoyed, her face pinched.

Harry shakes his head. "I'm not trying to make it more difficult for anyone."

"Well you're definitely making it harder for me!" Taylor laughs shortly. "You know I've done this before, right? And usually when a contract is signed the guy at least does his part. He at least tries."

 _"I never asked for this,"_ Harry snaps. "I signed the contract because I was _told_ to, not because I wanted to. Those other guys you dated wanted the publicity, or the cover, or whatever. I was perfectly fine without you."

"But you got me anyway, didn't you? And you _know_ the kind of publicity we've been drumming up for your little boy band couldn't have been bought any other way. Don't pretend like you're the innocent party here, Harry. Don't pretend that you didn't benefit from this."

"Benefit!" Harry laughs, disbelieving. "Right, seeing my boyfriend cry was a real benefit. Watching my fans bully each other was great too. So was lying to my friends. Don't you ever hate it? Don't you hate lying to everyone around you, don't you hate the acting and the fakery? Doesn't it _get_ to you?"

Taylor's eyes narrow. "Do you know how hard it is to go to number one in this country? To keep your name in the magazines, to get invited to the right parties? Do you know how goddamn hard I worked on this album, how much I need it to succeed? Of course it gets to me, but it gives me the publicity and the sales I need."

Her eyes are flashing ruthlessly and Harry stares. He feels his lip curl in distaste. "I could never live like that."

Taylor laughs bitterly. "Newsflash, sweetheart. You already are."

Harry doesn't have a chance to reply because Paula is putting her phone away and striding over to them. "We're good to go, let's move fast."

It doesn't take very long to leave the building and begin fighting their way through the crowds at Times Square with the help of their security. Harry hears camera-phones go off as they pass and Taylor takes his hand. He doesn't smile.

Somehow in that brief trip into the crowd, much of Harry's sudden bravery has left him. Yes, refusing to go on the platform was a small victory but he still has to do the kiss and Harry is not in any way prepared for it. 

Security leads them to the spot Paula picked and the countdown begins. Harry's heart starts to race uncomfortably fast, thudding in his chest and it's like he can hear the countdown pulsing through him. Dread builds in his stomach and his arm clenches where he's awkwardly holding Taylor. She tries to distract him by pointing out a fan who is asking for a hug. Harry leans over to kiss the fan on the cheek before Taylor brings his attention back to the countdown. 

Three, two.

One.

Taylor doesn't miss a beat and her lips are on his immediately. Harry forces himself to close his eyes and kisses her back. His arms are stiff around her back and hers are looped around the back of his neck, clinging to him. Harry wishes he could feel nothing. He wishes he could travel outside of his own body for those thirty seconds, but he can’t, and he knows he’ll remember it forever.

Taylor is too tall for him, and his hands feel wrong on her body because she's a completely different shape to the boy they were made to hold. Her hands are cold and her hair tickles his cheek. The shape of her lips, the way she kisses; it’s all new and unfamiliar.

It's a shock to the system, to be kissing and holding someone else when it's been Louis, only Louis, always Louis, for over two years. It's disorienting, scary, confusing and Harry never, ever wants to feel this again.

The kiss itself lasts maybe thirty seconds. Harry doesn't know. He breaks away when Taylor does and she immediately hugs him, plastering herself to his front and swaying them together. She's saying something to him and Harry doesn't listen, just stares unseeing into the crowd. He registers vaguely the cheers going on around him, the fireworks above. Taylor is still talking, close to his face so it probably looks like she's kissing him on the cheek. "Hug me more," she's muttering and he nods, rubbing her back awkwardly. She sighs into his ear. "You're really terrible at this," she says, and kisses his cheek again.

"Are we done here?" asks security, and Taylor is nodding. "Yeah, we can go."

In a matter of moments Harry finds himself being hustled away through the crowd again. 

As they push and pull through the throng of people, Harry begins to feel worse and worse. The nausea he's been trying to hold off all day has reached uncomfortable levels, causing his stomach to roil. He swallows convulsively and focuses on following their security to the car, but it only gets worse as they go.

By the time they're climbing into the van, Harry knows he's having a panic attack. He used to have them a lot when the band first started and his stagefright was out of control. He hasn't had one in over a year.

The van door closes behind them and Harry falls into his seat. He's breathing in short, sharp bursts and he's dizzy from it, his chest heaving. He's shaking all over and he can't think, can't move, can't feel anything except terrible, terrible fear. He feels like the world's about to end, like he's going to die, like he's about to burst right through skin out of pure fear. He closes his eyes, struggling desperately to cope but he can't remember how to deal with this.

"Harry?" Taylor sounds confused and cautious. "What's going on? What are you doing?"

Harry shakes his head. He can't speak. He can't _breathe_ and his head is spinning and his hands are numb and his stomach won't stop clenching and he needs, he needs -

"Louis," he manages to gasp between breaths. "My phone - call -"

He moves his hand in the vague direction of his pocket, leans his head back against the seat again and closes his eyes.

By now the security guys have caught on that something is up and they're crawling into the back of the van too, asking Taylor in loud voices what's happening. Harry doesn't register what they're saying, can't focus on anything except that he's _going to die_.

Then Louis’ worried voice crackles through Harry’s phone speakers. "Harry? _Harry_? Answer me baby, please." 

"He's shaking his head," Taylor reports, her voice high and panicked. "Louis, he's hyperventilating."

"Make him lean forward with his head between his knees," Louis commands sharply. Taylor does, pushing at Harry's back so he bends over. The position seems to open up his diaphragm and his breaths come easier but no less shallow. Louis' voice changes as soon as he addresses Harry, going soft and soothing. "Harry, I need you to breathe for me."

"Can't," Harry chokes, shaking his head again. 

"You can," Louis assures him patiently. "Come on, you know how to do this. You know there's enough air, you know how to bring it in through your nose and out through your mouth. There is nothing to hurt you, you understand? You are not dying."

"I -"

"Shh. We're going to do it like we used to before a show, alright? You're going to breathe with me. In for two, out for two."

Harry draws the short breaths. "In for four, out for four."

And it's better this time. His chest is loosening.

"In for six, out for six." Louis chants. "You're doing so good, Harry. Breathe nice and deep for me, there's my good boy."

Very slowly, and with Louis' careful coaching in his ear, Harry begins to recover. His head clears, his heart-rate slows, and the shaking subsides to a small tremor in his fingers. He manages to take the phone from Taylor and turns the speaker off, keeping Louis’ voice to himself.

Finally he can sit up again and lean back against the leather car seat. Harry gasps in deep, steadying breaths while Louis murmurs nonsense comfort at him. Harry doesn't know what Taylor or the security guys are doing - probably staring uncomfortably at him. 

"I'm okay," he says to them, opening his eyes. "We can go."

"What _was that?_ Taylor says. She looks tentative and shocked, her hand awkward on the seat between them like she feels like she should be comforting him but doesn't quite know how.

"She's never seen someone have a panic attack before?" Louis snips in Harry's ear and he smiles weakly.

"Panic attack," he explains to Taylor. "I used to get them a lot, but not lately. I'm fine."

"Don't look fine," she says doubtfully, but she accepts his assurances and lets them be driven to the hotel.

Louis stays on the phone the entire ride, even though Harry isn't up to speaking yet. Just knowing that Louis is there is enough of a comfort for Harry and he feels nearly normal by the time they arrive. He waves goodbye to Taylor and closes the door to his room, sitting down heavily on the bed.

"How are you feeling now?" Louis asks gently.

Harry rubs his hand over his face and slumps forward. "Embarrassed. Stupid."

Louis sighs. "There wasn't anything you could do to stop it, H. It's not your fault that it happens to you when you're stressed, and you were definitely stressed."

Harry nods. "I tried to fight it, you know. Not the attack, the kiss. I told them I wouldn't do it on the platform. I thought Paula was going to slap me."

"You argued with Paula?" Louis asks, sounding both impressed and shocked.

"I may have threatened her," Harry admits.

There's a silence, and then Louis speaks in a low rasp. "That might be the hottest thing you've ever done."

Harry smiles. "Well, it didn't help that much. We didn't have to do it on the TV cameras but we still had to get filmed."

"And?" Louis sounds apprehensive.

"It was awful," Harry says plainly. "God, I just felt sick the whole time, Lou. I never wanted to do this to you."

Louis huffs a frustrated breath. "I wish you'd stop worrying so much about how it's affecting me and take care of yourself instead."

"I'm trying to. Obviously not doing a very good job."

"Yeah. Are you sure you feel okay now? Breathing fine, think you can sleep?" Louis asks anxiously.

"I'm okay," Harry says with a nod Louis can't see. "Not good, but I don't feel like I'm dying anymore." He closes his eyes tightly. "I just want this all to be over. I want to come _home_."

Louis makes a sad sound. "I want you home too, kitten."

Harry manages a watery smile at the petname. Louis only uses it when Harry is feeling truly horrible.

"Coddling me," he teases quietly.

"Nobody has to know," Louis answers in a conspiratorial whisper. Harry knows he's smiling fondly, his face soft and open. Niall's taken to calling it Louis' 'Harry look' and Harry never feels more special than when he brings it out of him.

It's over a week until he'll be able to see Louis do that in person again, and the thought makes Harry's eyes well up with tears. He sniffles, trying to be quiet, but of course Louis hears. 

“Harry, don’t,” he says desperately. “Please don’t cry.”

“M’sorry,” Harry mumbles, wiping his eyes. “I just miss you so much and I don’t know how we’re going to get through another six weeks of this, Lou. Taylor and I can’t stand each other, the fans hate me, you and I are -”

“Fine,” Louis interrupts firmly. “You and I are _fine_ , Harry.”

Harry nods, feeling something inside him strengthen at the assurance. “Okay, okay, but still,” he digs his finger into the corner of his eye like he could hold back the tears. “Tonight was...awful. So awful.”

“I know,” Louis sounds almost as upset as Harry feels. “I know it was, and it’s killing me that you’re hurting and I can’t be there with you. I just want to curl up with you and make you feel better.”

Harry closes his eyes and curls his fingers around his left bicep, touching the shirt that matches Louis’, pressing on the ship tattoo. If he tries really hard, he can almost feel Louis holding him, his fingers carding through Harry’s curls. His stomach aches with it and he presses harder against his tattoo, so hard that it hurts. 

 

And Harry's not usually one to dwell. He's not usually the type to focus on the bad stuff and let it get to him. He's always had the kind of outlook where he sees the good in everything he can and lets the rest roll off his back.

That's what he's been trying to do all along, these past few years. Why let himself get upset over the closeting, over the lying, when he had a perfect boyfriend who loved him dearly, even if it was in secret? Why sulk about homophobic assholes on Twitter when he knew he lead the kind of life people only dreamed about? 

Even in their worst moments, he's had Louis, and he's chosen to remember that, to let it anchor and soothe him. He's ignored the snide remarks, the articles, ignored the tightness of his throat when Louis denied their relationship on camera. He's even ignored the days Louis has to be seen out with Eleanor, ignored their awkward photos, ignored the way the fans cooed over them. At the end of the day, he told himself, Louis came home to him. And at the end of the contract, at the end of what he'd come to see as imprisonment, Louis would still be his.

In this moment, a million miles away and with the feel of Taylor's lips still lingering in Harry's memory, it's not easy to remember all that.

It's not easy to paste on an easy smile and a charming laugh, not easy to tell himself that he can cope for the next six weeks of this lie.

The fact is that he doesn't want to, and he shouldn't _have_ to. It's not even about Louis, not entirely. It's about Harry, the individual, being forced to hide his sexuality with this insanely elaborate facade. He can't stand that, can't stand the message he's sending to fans - that he'd rather hide and lie, like he's ashamed. Like there's something wrong with being gay.

Harry is silent for a long time as he thinks all this, his fingers still digging into his tattoo. He's not crying though, not anymore. Instead he finds himself filled with a steely kind of resolve, and the tiny seed of an idea.

"Lou," he says. "Louis, I don't want to do this for another six weeks."

 

It takes a surprisingly small amount of time and effort for Harry’s idea to become a real plan. He brings it up with Taylor as they’re flying out to the British Virgin Islands the following day, which turns into a long discussion about the pros and cons of sticking out their contract.

“I just don’t want to drag it out if neither of us are happy,” Harry keeps saying.

“It really hasn’t worked out the way I’d hoped,” Taylor admits. She seems bitter but accepting, like she knew this was coming. “I’d rather cut my losses and move on, to be honest.”

After they’ve agreed, it’s a matter of going into phone meetings with both their management teams. This is much more difficult and complicated - Harry’s people especially upset about breaking contract early. There’s a lot of boring discussion with big words being thrown around, leaving Harry with a blinding headache by the end of the day. 

It takes another two days for their teams to agree on terminating the contract and construct a strategy for the ‘breakup.’ Harry is so relieved he nearly cries. He Skypes with Louis that evening, a Louis who looks a lot worse for wear than when Harry last saw him. He obviously hasn’t been sleeping well, with deep bags under his eyes and his skin sapped of its usual healthy glow. Nonetheless, his smile when Harry tells him the news is so bright that Harry’s heart skips a beat. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Louis beams at him through the screen. He’s in their bed at home, propped up against the pillows. “And so happy, H. Get home so I can kiss you, yeah?”

Harry beams back, relief and joy still coursing through him. “Working on it, baby.”

 

Taylor leaves the next morning. She and Harry exchange awkward hugs and muttered goodbyes, neither of them sure of how to end things. Harry has no idea what the protocol in such a situation is. He doesn’t want to thank Taylor, nor does he want to apologise that things didn’t work out. In the end he just wishes her the best and lets her go. He’s not sorry to see her leave.

 

 

It’s a Monday, and Harry is coming home.

His flight was due to land at about 10am, which means he should be walking through the front door, tired but happy, within the hour.

Louis hasn’t slept.

He hasn’t in days, not really. He seems to be literally incapable of it. The bed has been cold and huge and it doesn’t smell like Harry anymore. Louis tried to sleep in it for the first few days but it hadn’t worked; he’d merely tossed and turned, curled into himself and tried to imagine Harry was holding him.

He’s been wearing Harry’s shirts and hoodies to bed. Faint echoes of Harry’s scent linger in the clothes, and the comfort of that has helped him to get a few decent naps.

Since they’ve been apart, Louis has had only fitful nights; two or three hours of light sleep before he was up again. He’d lie in bed playing mindless games on his Ipad, or leave the television on for background noise. Sometimes he took a warm bath before bed, or went to gym late in the day so that he was tired. Once he tried to drink himself to sleep, but all that did was give him a headache and make him feel like the bed was spinning beneath him.

He moved to the couch after the second night, because sleeping in their bed just made him miss Harry more. At least on the couch he could pretend he’d just passed out watching a movie late at night. At least then he could pretend that Harry would be there to wake him in the morning, with an indulgent smile and a cup of tea in his hands. Louis would take a sip and then put the tea down and pull Harry down onto the couch with him. They’d cuddle in the residual warmth of the blankets (the blankets Harry had thrown on him sometime in the night), and he’d press a kiss to Harry’s temple and ask him what he’d like to do for breakfast.

He had the thought that maybe he was missing the presence of a warm body in the bed beside him, and that was how he ended up at Liam’s at one in the morning. It was pathetic, really - Louis pale and stripped bare by exhaustion, with dark puffy circles under his eyes, standing in his pyjamas on Liam’s doorstep.

Liam hadn’t asked questions. He lead Louis to his bedroom and pulled him close, wrapped strong arms around his waist until Louis had felt warm and small and safe, the way he liked.

Liam didn’t kiss the back of his neck, or skim his fingertips over Louis’ belly, or whisper sweet words into his ear the way that Harry did. His breathing had a different rhythm to Harry’s and Louis struggled to match his own to it.

Still, it helped.

Somewhere in the haze of sleeplessness, there was the Skype call that changed everything. There was Harry’s face lit up with joy as he told Louis that it was over, that he was done. Taylor was gone.

Louis has been weak with relief ever since, and even more desperate for Harry to be back in his arms. The joy will come, he knows. Once he’s had a chance to process, once he’s certain that this is over, the happiness will take him over, fill him up. But Louis feels like it won’t be real until Harry is home.

Last night - Sunday - Louis was alone again. He’d kept himself up late in hopes he’d be able to just give into the exhaustion, but after three hours lying wide awake in bed, he gave up. He spent the rest of the night with his eyes blindly set on the TV, checking his phone every few hours in case Harry had had the chance to text during one of his layovers.

He didn’t.

Now it’s 10am and Harry’s plane is supposed to be landing. Louis is still a mess; barely dressed in pyjama pants and one of Harry’s shirts, his hair fluffy because he didn’t dry it properly after a midnight shower.

The first text from Harry rolls in at 10:13:

landed x

how long??

still got bags, paps + fans, sweetheart. 45 min, i hope.

i need you

soon x

And Louis doesn’t mind that Harry isn’t being verbose about his feelings right now. Harry likes to send cute texts, sometimes, but that’s reserved for light-hearted teasing and flirting. This is more than that, and Louis can tell that anything Harry wants to say, he’s waiting for when he can actually say it.

There’s nothing to say, anyway. They were apart and it’s been awful. Now it’s over.

 

Louis doesn’t bounce around the room or fidget nervously as he waits. Harry will get here when he gets here, and then Louis will remember what it feels like to take a full breath. Then the ache in his bones will settle, and the throb of exhaustion that pounds behind his eyes will ease.

 

The door opens, and Harry steps inside. He’s in jeans, a soft grey shirt and a tan jacket, and he’s holding too many bags. He struggles to put them down without losing the whole bundle, and finally manages to close the door behind him.

Louis’ body moves without him telling it to, every single cell screaming out harryharryharry and it’s not a joyous leap into his arms, not a tackling kiss that ends in laughter. This reunion is quieter than all that, yet somehow more desperate.

Instead, the two move forward until their bodies meet. It’s smooth like a key fitting into a lock, like hand in glove, the way Louis turns his cheek to rest against Harry’s chest.

Their arms come around each other; Louis’ around Harry’s back, under the jacket, Harry’s tight over his shoulders as he pulls him in closer. Louis’ eyes close the moment his face comes into contact with Harry’s soft shirt and he breathes greedily, loud through his nose so that Harry’s scent fills his senses. 

Harry is smelling his hair. Harry is wrapping him up tight, tighter, strong arms enveloping Louis’ smaller frame. Harry is running big hands up and down Louis’ spine, rubbing soothing circles against the small of his back. Harry is warm, and safe, and real, and _home_.

Overwhelmed, emotional in his exhaustion, Louis feels a sob push its way out the back of his throat. His shoulders shake and he presses his face harder against Harry’s chest, like he could burrow into him and never have to leave. Harry breathes his name, hunches down to tuck his face into Louis’ neck. He’s trembling slightly, his breath stuttered where it hits Louis’ skin. Louis rubs his back, sifts his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.

Time passes. They don’t move, except to shift slightly or tighten their hold on one another. Distantly, Louis is aware that they have work today, are due at rehearsals in a couple of hours. It doesn’t seem to matter to him.

When they eventually separate enough to look each other in the eye, they’re quiet. Louis’ hands slide up to settle on either side of Harry’s neck, thumbs resting on his jaw. Harry blinks, big green eyes searching Louis’ face and Louis does the same to him. They’re trying to pick out changes; searching for some kind of bruise or scar to mark what they’ve been through. Harry’s more tanned, but his eyes are heavy and tired. Louis knows he’s the same, knows Harry is cataloguing the puffiness under his eyes and pallor of his skin. Every clue reads, I don’t do well without you.

There’s something reverent about the moment as they stare at one another. Louis leans up, not for a kiss but just to nudge their noses together, their eyelashes leaving barely-there touches on one anothers’ cheeks. Harry’s head dips to follow him and a smile curves his lips as their noses rub in a gentle eskimo kiss.

Louis’ fingers move to nestle in Harry’s hair, tangling in the soft locks. They kiss, finally, slow and tender and held close. Then Harry kisses Louis’ cheeks, his eyelids where they’re bruised and dark. Sleep? he’s asking, and Louis nods.

They try not to let go on their way to the bedroom, resulting in an awkward hobble-walk with Harry’s arms wrapped around Louis’ waist from behind. Louis knees up onto the mattress, the one which had seemed so empty and lonely just a few hours ago. When he pulls Harry down beside him, they land in the centre of the bed, sharing one pillow, a long tangled line of their bodies. They twine together, legs between thighs and arms around waists, mouths meeting again for kisses that say hello, love you, need you, missed you, don’t let me go.

Louis’ whole body sings with the knowledge that Harry is near. They don’t have time to really rest, but the hour long nap in Harry’s arms is the best sleep Louis’ had in weeks.

 

Their joy at finally being reunited, at being free of a contract which was supposed to haunt them well into February, lasts for weeks on end. Louis feels more in love with Harry than ever, entranced with him from his big, clumsy feet to his soft, beautiful hair and every inch between. Over the following few weeks the pair of them stay wrapped up in each other as often as possible, not willing to be apart after such a difficult few months. 

They cuddle constantly; in breaks at rehearsals Louis finds himself curling into Harry’s lap to press kisses to his cheeks and breathe jokes into his ear. The rest of the time, he winds an arm around Harry’s waist at any opportunity, keeping him close to his side while Harry beams down at him. 

The boys tease them mercilessly about their ‘honeymoon phase’, Niall groaning exaggeratedly when he catches them kissing in the bathroom (and in the hallway, and in a dark corner, and in a recording booth). Louis can tell they’re relieved though, happy to see the balance restored and their friends smiling again. 

January passes in a blur of sweet kisses, incredible sex and the intoxicating knowledge that Harry and Louis fought for each other, again. And _won_. Again. High on rebellion, they refuse to be separated throughout the Japan trip. Louis doesn’t even try to control the fondness in his expression every time he looks at Harry, doesn’t pull away from Harry’s leg pressed against his during interviews. Their team isn’t happy about it, but Louis couldn’t care less.

In late January, they visit Harry’s tattooist friend, Jake in London for some new ink. In Louis’ mind, the theme for the day is ‘freedom’ - maybe they haven’t got as much of it as they need, but it’s what they dream of. The pretty little bird that covers his right forearm matches beautifully with Harry’s sparrows, and Louis couldn’t be happier with it. He loves the placement of it, too - as obvious as he could possibly got, not something that their management will be able to hide easily. It speaks volumes about how Louis is beginning to view the year ahead. He wants this tattoo to say what he can’t, say that he belongs with Harry, that he craves freedom, that’s he’s had enough of hiding. 

He’ll stick things out with Eleanor, probably. There’s still a contract in place, but that won’t stop he and Harry from rebelling where they can, from showing their feelings as much as possible. It can’t actually keep them apart. Louis revels in that knowledge, the knowledge that they’ve fought this for so long and that they’re still winning, despite everything.

He supposes the secondary theme for their tattoos that day is ‘hope’ - hope for the future, hope for their relationship, hope for marriage, for children, for a life together that’s free of lies.

Harry has a butterfly drawn into his skin the same day that Louis gets his bird. It’s huge, spreading right over the centre of his chest. Louis knows that people will think it’s ridiculous, and privately he understands why. But it’s so perfectly _Harry_ \- goofy, sweet and completely, unabashedly individual. Louis finds himself helplessly endeared, as he usually does around his silly, lovely boy. It’s for freedom, too, the butterfly - freedom to be himself, to love who he loves without worrying about judgement. 

There’s another tattoo in Jake’s sketchbooks, one Louis has been mulling over for a long time. “It Is What It Is” spreads in curling script above the drawing of Harry’s butterfly, and it really speaks to Louis about their situation. It feels a bit too cynical for him today, a day that’s about hope, but Louis will come back to get the words across his collarbones in a couple of months’ time.

He does, however, ask for a paper plane to be tattooed above the tail of his bird. It’s silly, maybe, but he likes that it references both Harry’s old necklace and their latest album. It can be a reminder of the countless kisses he pulled Harry into by grabbing onto that silver chain, feeling Harry’s smile against his mouth. The album, the tour - they’re not something he wants to forget either. 

(But mostly it’s about the kisses. Louis’ a sentimental guy.)

They risk a date the next night. It’s nothing major, just dinner and a movie and yet Harry manages to make it special. He actually picks Louis up, driving up in his silly vintage Jag that he pulled out of storage just for the occasion. Louis laughs but kisses him at the door anyway, fluttering his eyelashes in an impression of a teenage girl. “My mum says I have to be home by ten,” he murmurs in a silly, high voice.

Harry nods seriously, taking Louis’ hand and leading him toward the car. He opens the door for Louis and Louis slips into the seat with a delighted giggle. “Don’t worry,” Harry says with a wink as he settles into the drivers’ seat. “I’m a gentleman.”

Harry insists on paying for dinner so Louis covers the impressive selection of lollies they accumulate at the theatre. They exchange sweet, sticky kisses in the bathroom before they head into the movie, some action thing that Louis picked out in the full knowledge that he wouldn’t be paying much attention. 

As soon as the lights go down he feels Harry reaching for his hand. Louis allows their fingers to twine together, their hands fitting against each other as always. He rubs his thumb against the back of Harry’s hand and rests his head against his shoulder. He feels Harry glance around quickly before Harry’s lips are soft against his forehead, kissing him gently. Louis sighs and settles closer to him, soaking in his warmth.

 

The date is something of a pre-birthday event for Harry, who’s been told that Louis shouldn’t be seen at his party the following week. As frustrating as that is, they manage to work around it. On his birthday, Louis gets Harry to himself all morning, and he makes sure that they spend it in bed.  
Once they’ve stumbled downstairs, Louis proceeds to make Harry an entirely edible (if not slightly charred) breakfast, which they eat with goofy, sex-stupid smiles on their faces.

Despite Louis’ many offers to organise something more exciting, Harry’s only birthday wish was to spend time with the boys. So Zayn, Niall and Liam trickle into the house one by one, ready to shower Harry with both gifts and cuddles. 

They spend nearly every single day together, but it’s so different when it’s just _them_ , just the five of them. Without the constant presence of security, stylists, assistants, band members and, especially, cameras, the boys are able to relax, to breathe and enjoy themselves without reservation. They crowd into Harry and Louis’ basement to play table tennis and video games, to test out Louis’ new football table. They play in the pool, order Nando’s for lunch, and have an epic snowball fight in the yard. Finally, flushed and grinning, they fold themselves into the living room couches to watch DVDs and fight over blankets.

“You know we could have done literally anything today,” Louis remarks as Zayn hits ‘Play’ on Grease (Harry’s choice, of course). “We could have gone Go-Karting or paintballing, or rented out an entire cinema or the zoo, could have flown to Paris and gone to Disneyland. Yet you choose to stay at home with these dorks.”

Niall lets out an indignant,‘Oi,’ and throws half a chip at Louis from the other side of the room. Head in Louis’ lap, Harry turns to look up at him.

“Yep,” he says serenely. He does look happy; eyes bright, smile soft. “I don’t need to make a big deal of it, you know. Just wanted to see m’boys. Wanted to be with you.”

Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s curls, traces his fingertips lightly over Harry’s cheekbones. “Well, you got us. Happy birthday, Haz.”

As is tradition, Harry and Louis jump up at the end of the film to re-enact Danny and Sandy’s final song. Louis’ face hurts from smiling so hard as Harry walks toward him, bouncing slightly in time with the song. He walks backwards, singing a loud, ‘you’re the one that I want,’ while Harry stalks him across the room.

They don’t finish the dance. Harry tackles him onto the couch before the song is over and kisses him soundly, hands slipping into Louis’ hair. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and strokes his thumbs over Harry’s cheeks, kisses him with all the adoration he feels for this beautiful, beautiful boy.

Niall empties all the leftover chips over Harry’s back, Zayn accuses them of being ‘the sappiest fuckers on the planet,’ and Liam merely watches on fondly from the corner. 

It’s a good day.

 

 

February passes in the blink of an eye. They rehearse nearly every day, gearing up for the massive tour ahead of them. Then suddenly it’s the evening of the 23rd - 24 hours away from the first concert in London.

Aware of what a big week they have ahead, Louis and Harry have a quiet, early night. They cook dinner together, watch a DVD, and head to bed long before they usually would.

Not close to tired, Louis pulls Harry down onto the mattress with him and slots their mouths together. He’s on his back, Harry warm and heavy on top of him with one leg fitting between Louis’. He cups Louis’ cheek in one hand and licks into his mouth, his movements slow. They’ve taken more time with each other since their rough patch in December, Louis’ noticed - slowed down a little and made an effort to appreciate these kind of moments. It’s gorgeously overwhelming, to have Harry focus on him so entirely. Harry’s chest is warm against Louis’, his foot rubs teasingly and up and down Louis’ calf as they kiss, and he keeps stroking his thumb gently against Louis’ cheekbone. Louis loves how Harry can make him feel so surrounded, so enveloped and yet never suffocated. He kisses Harry back, keeps it soft and lazy with his fingers slipping through the curls at the back of Harry’s neck.

They strip each other down eventually, pass lips and hands over warm skin to elicit quiet gasps and moans. Louis works Harry up gradually, kissing up and down his thighs and finally suckling on the head of his cock until Harry is whimpering, his cheeks flushed a hectic red. Harry’s so beautiful when he’s wrecked and begging, and Louis gets him near tears with three fingers nudging inside him before Harry is whining for Louis to fuck him. 

“Love you, love you,” Louis murmurs as he presses himself against Harry’s entrance and begins to push inside. He fucks Harry slow, curled over him so he can stretch up to catch Harry’s slack mouth in wet kisses. Harry watches him with big, soft eyes, the green in them nearly disappearing around the black of his pupils. His hands curl around Louis’ shoulders, fingers digging in when Louis keeps the pace at the same maddening drag. 

“Please Lou, please,” Harry chants as Louis slides into him again, pushing deep enough for Harry’s breathing to catch. He’s ignored Harry’s erection so far, instead let it rub up against his belly as he moves. “Touch me.”

He looks so gorgeous that Louis can’t help giving in. He quickens his rhythm to steady, deep thrusts that have Harry hissing and arching his neck back. Louis plants his hands on the bed beside Harry’s shoulders, building up leverage to fuck him harder. Harry’s body is tight and slick around him, his little ass pulling Louis’ cock into him with every thrust. “God, Harry,” Louis pants, and reaches down to wrap his hand around Harry’s cock.

Harry whimpers, hips rolling up into Louis’ hand. His cock is thick and heavy in Louis’ grip, precome smearing wetly over the head. Louis rubs his thumb over it, squeezing Harry lightly before he begins to stroke him off in steady, firm pulls.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to come, smearing wet over Louis’ hand with a shudder that wracks his body. He bears down hard on Louis’ cock and Louis whines, coming barely a minute later.

Lazy, he sprawls out on Harry’s chest for long minutes afterwards. He dips his head to leave kisses all over Harry’s bird tattoos, then licks a smear of Harry’s come off the butterfly and down over his firm belly. Harry merely sighs, tangling long fingers in Louis’ hair.

After they’ve showered and crawled back into bed, Louis turns onto his side and waits for Harry’s arms to come around him. “Gonna marry you,” he reminds him as Harry drops a soft goodnight kiss to the nape of his neck.

He feels Harry’s lips stretch into a smile. “I know.”

 

They perform in London the next night. Up on the platform, midway through ‘Moments’, Louis turns his head to look over at Harry.

He’s glowing, gorgeous in the bright lights as he belts out the words. Harry catches him staring and his face softens. His gaze is warm; full of love, full of hope.

There’s 20,000 people watching them.

All Louis sees is Harry.

 

[](http://s24.photobucket.com/user/Dot1234/media/final1_zpsc3519560.jpg.html)


End file.
